


Pineapple 2: Bacta in the Habit

by scarletjedi



Series: Pineapple Verse [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives, kinda? he comes back from the dead, pre-nightsisters, qui gun unfucks the galaxy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so, my little "bacta is expensive pineapple lube" smutfic GREW GREAT BIG PLOTTY LEGS so now there's a sequel. It's a silly title for a not so silly fic. </p><p>Qui-Gon Jinn is back from the dead. The Sith don't stand a *chance*.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bacta to the Future

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired first by Poplitealqueen, who asked about bacta lube. Encouraged and enabled by TAFKAB, who threw Qui-Gon at me :)
> 
> and yes: all the titles are going to be puns of famous movie titles.
> 
> You want more of me? Want to see my ramblings, fan works, and sneak peaks? Or is a story you love not updated when you expect it to be? Check out my [tumblr](scarletjedi.tumblr.com) for status updates and more!

Obi-Wan accepted the tea Qui-Gon handed him, shifting to sit up more fully. He was still naked, wrapped in only his master’s robe, and it was—easy. _Intimate._ Only long years of practice gave him the grace to sip his tea with polished manners and not, for example, spill the tea all down his front. Qui-Gin chuckled. 

“Ever the diplomat, Obi-Wan, that you keep to your manners even here?” he asked. Obi-Wan noticed, however, that Qui-Gon, sitting lotus before him, held his own cup gently, hovering above the palm of his other hand with perfect form. Obi-Wan nearly retorted that he was a man who carried his own teacups into a war zone, and just what, exactly, did Qui-Gon think _that_ meant, but he bit his tongue and sipped the tea. It was brewed perfectly, of course, but while it was Obi-Wan’s tea for sure, it tasted _so much like Qui-Gon’s—_

“Manners adhered to only some of the time are hollow reflections of that they are meant to be,” Obi-Wan said, his voice even and his face a perfect example of a diplomat’s genial mask. Qui-Gon's eyes _glittered_ with mirth, and Obi-Wan let his smile twist. “Of course, considering some of the places I have been sent, unconscious adherence to manners has saved my life on more than one occasion.” Just as often as Anakin’s tendency to forget his manners got them into trouble, in fact. 

Qui-Gon nodded sagely, the motion exaggerated just enough that Obi-Wan started to feel a little giddy. It had been so long since he had played this game with his master. “You are often sent on diplomatic missions to…Coruscant? Those manners are too specific to be used elsewhere, even among the core worlds.” The tone was teasing, but the question was in ernest.

“Increasingly,” Obi-Wan said, spreading his hands. “We are at war, which means the Senate must be…” Appeased? Dealt with? “Addressed.” 

“Seems a bit frivolous for a High General,” Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “High General or no, I am, by _your_ training, a diplomat first.” 

Qui-Gon regarded Obi-Wan calmly, sipping his tea. Obi-Wan sighed and signaled, at least, a break from their game. “I’ve become a bit of a poster boy, to be honest. Every time I sit at some diplomatic function with a room full of senators who are more concerned about their pocketbooks than the people they represent—it makes me that much more determined to do some _real_ good. Word of my actions get back to the Senate, and they want me over for dinner. The cycle continues.” 

“Cycle?” Qui-Gon asked. “Or rut?” 

Obi-Wan smiled wanly and spread his arms, indicating that one option was just as good as the other. “As distasteful as I find most politicians, they are necessary in a democratic system.” 

“Most?” 

Nodding, Obi-Wan said, “Bail Organa is a good man, and one I consider a friend. Alderaanian Policy is much in line with Jedi philosophy. He is truly there to help people—and it shows in everything he does.” Obi-Wan sipped his tea. “Those that side with him, truly stand by his side, are generally of a good sort—particularly the senator from Naboo.” 

Qui-Gon smiled. “Yes. She’s grown far from the young queen she once was. hasn’t see?”

“Of course you know,” Obi-Wan complained without real heat. “Yes, she is highly dedicated to peace, and I have a great respect and admiration for her—if not as much as Anakin.” He could be hard pressed to find anyone with as much admiration—as much _love—_ as Anakin had for his—wife.

Qui-Gon sipped his tea. “I rather think Anakin would take offense if you did—it is a rare man who is not jealous of another’s affections towards his own spouse.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Then it is a good thing she is not my type,” he said, dryly. 

“Damn,” Qui-Gon said. “You already knew. I thought I had you.” 

"Of course, I knew,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin, for all his strengths, has never been _subtle._ But they married before he was knighted, and by the time he was, the war was upon us. The galaxy needs them—as Senator Amadala and General Skywalker.”

Qui-Gon hummed. “And when the war is over?” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, breeching etiquette to drop his cup to his lap. “Then I will rip out my heart and give it to them with my blessings.” Anakin would not be happy in the Order as a married man, and the conflict of interests between the Senate and the Order would be too great for them to remain as they were. So, once again, Obi-Wan would let the people he loved go. He opened his eyes to see Qui-Gon’s pale face, and he smiled, knowing it was harder, sharper than it maybe had any right to be, but not caring. Not now. “What do you expect me to say? I am on the _Council,_ Qui-Gon. All I ever wanted to be was a Jedi—that is my path. Anakin’s…will diverge, and I will grieve and move on because _that is what I do._ ” Obi-Wan snapped his mouth shut, breathing heavily though his nose as he fought for his composure. 

Qui-Gon smiled softly and cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek in his palm. Stars, but his hands were massive. “The future is always in motion,” he said. 

Obi-Wan snorted and smiled, resigned. “Yes. Yes it is.” He finished his tea, and Qui-Gon packed away his kit while Obi-Wan cleaned himself as best he could and dressed. He found himself loathe to give up Qui-Gon’s robe, however, and pressed it to his chest to breathe in it’s scent one more time before he handed it over. 

Qui-Gon, if he noticed, said nothing, but once dressed, Obi-Wan found himself drawn forward to be hugged tightly. He was, for a moment, enveloped in that overwhelming feeling of love, and held there by the same strong arms that he remembered so dearly. It was real. Qui-Gon was _real,_ and soon, Obi-Wan would have to deal with the ramifications of that. But, for now, Obi-Wan simply offered his own love in defense against that tide of emotion. 

“So,” Qui-Gon said, speaking into the top of Obi-Wan’s head. “What is our mission here?” 

Obi-Wan pulled away, his General’s rank settling around his shoulders like a mantle. “I’m looking for answers,” he said. “There was rumor of an Jedi temple--pre-reformation--discovered in the archived by Madame Nu. It was believed that there might be something to help the war effort, but--I found nothing but ruins. Any help from that corner is long gone, I’m afraid.” He checked his chrono. “I have to check in, soon. My ship is due to return for me in a few hours.” Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon. “We were supposed to be getting new marching orders, but I have a feeling we’re going to be recalled to Coruscant.” 

Qui-Gon hummed a laugh. “A safe bet,” he said. “Are we to wait here for your check in?” Obi-Wan shook his head. 

“There’s a clearing large enough for a shuttle a few klicks from here. We’ll head there for the rendezvous.” 

Qui-Gon nodded and strode out of the cave, only to stop in the sunshine, tilting his head up. Obi-Wan joined him a minute later, holding a hand up against the glare. “You forgot I was taking point on this, didn’t you?” he teased, but Qui-Gon didn’t rise to the bait. 

“Time has no meaning in death,” Qui-Gon said. “The years that I have been gone from this plane feel as if they passed in an instant, but still it feels like an age since I have had sunlight on my face.” 

Obi-Wan kept his silence; what was there to say? How did one ease this longing other than to let Qui-Gon feel his fill. In truth, Obi-Wan didn’t mind the wait. Qui-Gon was beautiful in the sun, always had been, and today was no exception. The light of the yellow sun was warm and gave Qui-Gon’s skin a golden cast, shining off the silver in his long brown hair. The wind stirred the strands against Qui-Gon’s chest, pulled at his clothes, and Obi-Wan was reminded of nothing less than the rocky cliffs of Dantooine by the sea—strong and steady—as the light cast sharp shadows across Qui-Gon’s features. 

If allowed, Obi-Wan knew well, Qui-Gon would spend all of his time out of door and in the light. His skin would darken to a color nearer to bronze, and his eyes, already so blue, would blaze. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, didn’t darken so much as burn and then freckle, and only the long campaign on Genosha had given his skin any depth of color—though Cody did insist that Obi-Wan hadn’t tanned so much as his freckled had joined one solid mass. Obi-Wan did not entirely believe him wrong, in that. 

Obi-Wan shook his head and gently placed his hand on Qui-Gon’s elbow. “Come. We need to make the rendezvous. There will be plenty of sunlight on the way.” 

***

The travel took the better part of the morning, and Obi-Wan found himself struggling with a severe case of Deja Vu. If not for his beard, and some of the more physical reminders of the night before, Obi-Wan could have been on any mission with his master. As it was, he found himself slipping back into old habits, turning to Qui-Gon to help navigate their path. To Obi-Wan’s relief, Qui-Gon turned to him in the same manner. 

Their current path led them along a shallow stream, one that flattened out in places to a mere few centimeters of water, its course broken by large, rounded rocks. _The river must swell with the spring thaw,_ Obi-Wan thought. 

_Indeed,_ Qui-Gon replied, and it was only the fact that Obi-Wan was, actually, a master now that kept him on his feet when he nearly missed his step. He had forgotten that he could be heard, now. _I am grateful we’re so close to winter, here. This course would be nigh unnavigable were this stream any larger._

They came to a large tree, it’s roots spread out across the river like so many bridges, and the other side pressed into a sheer rock-face. It was clear that they wouldn’t be going around the tree, not without back tracking too far. Obi-Wan sighed. 

“We’re going into the stream, aren’t we?” he asked, resigned and not a little amused. He should have known. 

Qui-Gon smiled over his shoulder, clearly picking up on Obi-Wan’s amusement, and left gracefully from root to root, nearly weightless as he made his way to the other side. There, he alit on a mossy rock that emerged from the top of the water, and turned to wait. 

Oh. Well. A challenge, then. Obi-Wan grinned and leapt, hitting every other root and landing, one foot up to the side, on the next rock over to Qui-Gon. He gave Qui-Gon a short bow, and smirked. Then, Qui-Gon was off once more, rock to rock, with Obi-Wan dancing after him. Qui-Gin laughed and Obi-Wan beamed with the sheer joy of it, his heart lighter than it had been in years. 

Qui-Gon came to a stop on a rock that jutted out over the edge of a waterfall, parting the stream before it fell. The water, deeper and faster here, rushed and gurgled about his feet, and the rock face itself was covered in wet moss. It was a treacherous perch, but if Obi-Wan times it just right—

Obi-Wan landed with a soft sound, balanced on one foot, and pressed up against Qui-Gon’s side. Riding the Force, as he was, Obi-Wan didn’t even waver. Still, Qui-Gon slipped his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, holding him securely to his side, and Obi-Wan lowered his other leg.

The clearing was down below, a few good kilometers from where the river bent to the left to continue off into the forest. The sunlight was clear and bright, and there was a breeze that blew crisp air, cooling them from their exertions. It was peaceful. Idyllic. And it said something about the state of Obi-Wan’s life that it fostered within him a sudden deep suspicion. 

“We will have to talk about this eventually, you know,” Obi-Wan said into Qui’Gon’s shoulder. He pressed his face more firmly against the warm cloth of his cloak. “How you are suddenly not dead and everything.” 

Qui-Gon hummed, the sound echoing in Obi-Wan’s ears. “Everything being, of course, the manner of my return?” 

“That _exactly!_ ” Obi-Wan said, and pulled back just enough to look Qui-Gon in the face. “I mean—there’s was hardly precedent for it, was there?” He shook his head. “And why return like that? What are we, Qui-Gon?” 

“We are whatever we wish to be,” Qui-Gon said, but his arm around Obi’Wan’s waist tightned. “I returned like that because I love you, and wished to show you how much.” He looked a bit sheepish, probably from the dumbstruck look that cross Obi-Wan’s face. “I was also not sure that I would still be here come morning, and rather felt time was of the essence. We needn’t do it again—“

“No, no!” Obi-Wan cut him off. “That’s not the problem, actually. I rather find I want to do it again. Often.” He flushed. “It was simply—unexpected.” 

“Unexpected doesn’t mean false,” Qui-Gon said, and the presence in Obi-Wan’s mind shifted like a caress, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes. It had been a long time since a surprise meant anything other than an ambush. His instincts were in turmoil; half of him was screaming that this, too, would turn out to be yet another attack by the Sith, made the more insidious by the fact that rest of Obi-Wan was insistent that _this was Qui-Gon Jinn._ He knew what he wanted to believe. 

He pulled away, and Qui-Gon’s pulled back to simply rest a hand on Obi-Wan’s hip. Obi-Wan looked down over the waterfall. It was at least a thirty meter fall. “Last one down has to tell Dex you’re back,” he said, and with a bright grin tossed over his shoulder, jumped. 

Qui-Gon’s cry of surprised was followed by a determined growl, and yet he still ended up the one to tell Dex when they returned to Coruscant. 

***

Obi-Wan checked his chrono as they finally walked into the clearing—they were cutting it close to the wire, but Obi-Wan was sure they had made it in time. Sure enough, his comm beeped, and a small hologram of Cody appeared in his palm. “Hello, Cody,” he greeted. 

“Sir,” Cody said. “Ship’s in orbit. Are you at the rendezvous?" 

Obi-Wan nodded. "We are.” 

Cody’s helmet titled to the side as he cocked his head. “…we, sir?” 

“That is what I said, yes," Obi-Wan said. “I’m afraid I can’t say more, not even over an encrypted channel. All I can say is that I am in no danger, and I do believe this good news.” Across from Obi-Wan, out of range of what Cody could see, Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. Obi-Wan’s face didn’t change, but he broadcasted his smile through the Force clearly. 

Cody’s image rocked, and Obi-Wan realized he was on a moving platform. “Shuttle’s away. We’ll be there soon.” 

Obi-Wan smiled. Of course Cody was coming to collect him personally, the mother hen. “Thank you, Cody. You’re efficiency is, as always, unparalleled.” 

“I am to please, General,” Cody said, and the connection was cut. 

Obi-Wan pocketed his comm, and smiled ruefully at Qui-Gon. “I am going to catch hell for that, I’m sure.” Cody hated it when he felt Obi-Wan wasn’t taking appropriate care with his own life. It's not that Obi-Wan didn’t care, it’s just that they occasionally considered “appropriate” two different things. 

Qui-Gon didn't seem to appreciate the humor, and Obi-Wan’s smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

“You know this war is corrupt,” Qui-Gon began, and Obi-Wan sighed. 

“Not you, too,” he said. Qui-Gon opened his mouth, but Obi-Wan herd up a hand. “I know this war is…less than idea,” he said. “It’s costly—too costly. Too many lives are lost. Too many innocents are hurt or worse. The senate is leaking money like a sinking ship, and so none of the usual issues are being resolved. The Jedi are _dwindling,_ too many of us killed off and not enough of us trained up. But _what other option do we have,_ Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan stepped forward, earnest. “We were attacked. If we don’t defend the citizens, who will? We are risking out lives, because to do less would be anathema to all we stand for.” 

But Qui-Gon shook his head, and _Oh!_ How had Obi-Wan forgotten how knifin’ _stubborn_ this man was? “They wouldn’t need to be defended if there was no war,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Well I am open to suggestions!” Obi-Wan snapped, throwing his arms wide. He planted his fists on his hips and sighed. “I’m sorry. That was harsh. The Jedi have been on the front lines since this whole mess began, and there are so few of us—we’re spread far too thin. But if there was a way to end the war, don’t you think the council would have seen to it?” 

Qui-Gon’s lip twisted, but his eyes were more sad than anything. “I lost faith long ago in the abilities of the council to handle delicate situations. It is often better to act as the Force wills, and inform them after the fact.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “And once I would have agreed,” Obi-Wan said, and he could feel the surprise from Qui-Gon before the other man stamped down on it. “But that was before, then the Council rarely strayed from the Temple. That is hardly the case anymore, Qui-Gon. And, in case it had escaped your notice, I’m _on_ the council.” He shook his head. “Not everyone can be a maverick, Qui-Gon.” 

Qui-Gon hummed. “Maybe that is why I was allowed to stay,” he said, and though his voice was mild, even contemplative, Obi-Wan felt it, that certainty that he was right and the rest of the galaxy was wrong, and underneath that, the disappointment—For a moment, Obi-Wan _seethed_.

“And just what do _you_ plan to do,” Obi-Wan snapped. 

“Expose the Sith at the heart of all of this.” 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and stopped, his ire leaving in a rush. “You know who it is,” he said, hushed and suddenly sure. "The Sith Master."

Qui-Gon nodded, solemn. "I do."

“Well, who is it?" Obi-Wan demanded. “That’s vital information, Qui-Gon! If we stop this Sith we _could_ end this war."

Qui-Gon nodded in agreement. “Far more easily than you may realize,” he said. “He is behind this war—the whole of it, not just the Separatists. He means to sow discord, for what end I do not know, but I am sure it will lead to nothing good. His name is Sidious--Darth Sidious, and he is of the line of Darth Bane."

"From Sith War?" Obi-Wan asked, surprised.

"The same," Qui-Gon said. "He has placed himself well, in a position key to manipulating the galaxy the way a spider manipulates it's web."

Obi-Wan blinked. "It's someone we know?" He asked, voice low. In the distance, he could hear the whine of repulser engines. The shuttle was getting close. "Someone in the Senate?" Obi-Wan asked. Qui-Gon nodded. "Who?"

“I could tell you, but you wouldn't believe me,” Qui-Gon said. “He is far too well shielded; you must draw your own conclusions or never find your answer."

Obi-Wan shook his head. It sounded like the worst sort of lesson from his youth, but—it also felt like the truth. The Senate was so large, and the war was so damned complicated.

"Search your feelings, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, urgently. He heard the shuttle, too. "You know the truth."

And Obi-Wan _did_ know. "Palpatine," he said, and his words rang true in the Force like the worst sort of warning bell. "Palpatine is Sidious."

Qui-Gon nodded, and Obi-Wan sighed, closing his eyes. It explained so much. Too much—the climb to power, the way his subtle way he was never, ever, to blame. The uncomfortable feeling that Obi-Wan was left with for hours after every meeting. ”I thought it was heart burn,” he muttered to himself, and Qui-Gon chuckled. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes shot open as a familiar presence made a thought occur. “Oh no! Anankin!” Qui-Gon’s eyes widened as well, but there was no time to speak. The shuttle had arrived.


	2. Bacta 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter, we earn that rating :D

Obi-Wan stamped down on his alarm, blanking his expression before replacing it with what Anakin usually referred to has his “Jedi Master Smile.” He could feel Qui-Gon’s concern, and Obi-Wan sent him a reflexive wave of assurance. Obi-Wan was fine, simply startled. For some reason, it did nothing to ease Qui-Gon’s concern. 

Still, Obi-Wan had little time to deal with that: Anakin was on that shuttle. His presence shone like a beacon in the force, and so it was no surprise when the doors opened for Anakin to jump from inside, somersaulting down the final few meters. It was also little surprise to see Anakin ignite his saber before he hit the ground, he always did transmit his distress, and point it straight at Qui-Gon. 

Obi-Wan’s own ‘saber flew to his hand, but he did not ignite. Instead, he raised his hand and hopefully Anakin would respect the command to stop before Obi-Wan had to resort to the Force. Behind them all, the shuttle landed, Cody and his troops falling out and bringing weapons to bear. 

Qui-Gon smile. “Hello, Ani.”

Anakin’s eyes widened, and then his expression darkened. “I don’t know what you are, but you have no right to that name,” Anakin growled as he adjusted the grip on his saber, the blade coming closer. 

Obi-Wan stepped forward, slipping in between them. “There is no need for this,” he said. “Anakin, he is who he says he is, and even if he is not—“

Anakin threw out the hand that was not holding his ‘saber; the blade didn’t even shift. It was an impressive display of control, and the part of Obi-Wan that would never _not_ be Anakin’s teacher noted it with pride. “My first act as a Jedi was _watching his pyre burn!_ ” Anakin protested. 

“ _Even if he is not,_ ” Obi-Wan repeated louder, “I sense no ill will from him.” He looked over his shoulder at Qui-Gon, glaring at Qui-Gon’s smirk. “And you—stop provoking him.” Qui-Gon’s smirk transformed into the innocent style that Obi-Wan remembered Qui-Gon using on the council—the one that said “we both know I’m not innocent, but there’s nothing you can say about it.” Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and Qui-Gon had the grace to look a bit sheepish, and about as cowed as Obi-Wan thought he was going to get. 

Obi-Wan turned back to Anakin. “Our responsibility is to bring him before the council, _as you well know._ If he is not who he says he is, his fate will be theirs to decide.” There was faint ping down Obi-Wan’s sense of Qui-Gon that felt a bit like a muttered “not kriffin' likely,” but it was easy enough to ignore. Obi-Wan had over a decade experience in managing the world around Qui-Gon Jinn, and nearly as much life experience in addition. He would make it work through sheer force of will, if he had to. 

Anakin remained still for a long minute longer, glaring balefully at Qui-Gon’s serene facade. At least Qui-Gon remembered enough of his diplomatic training that, although his arms were crossed, his hands were exposed and clearly empty. He was _smiling,_ though however faintly, and Obi-Wan could _hit_ him. 

Finally Anakin lowered his blade, the troopers standing down a beat later. Anakin raised his metal hand, pointing a gloved finger at Qui-Gon. “I don’t believe you are Master Qui-Gon,” he said. “But if Obi-Wan says you’re friendly, then I can wait to hear the council’s decision.” Anakin sneered, looking Qui-Gon up and down dismissively. 

“Yes, thank you for that,” Obi-Wan said, dry and weary. 

“I can accept that,” Qui-Gon said, quietly, and Anakin stepped forward in a burst of Force-enhanced speed, stepping neatly around Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had his blade out and at the ready in a flash, but Anakin stopped before his stroke hit, to level his blade at Qui-Gon’s chin.

“One step out of line,” Anakin threatened, voice quiet and tight, “And I’ll light the next pyre _myself_.” 

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan protested, stern. 

“I would expect nothing less,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan snapped. 

“Oh, that is _quite enough!_ ”

Everyone stopped and looked at Obi-Wan. He knew his anger was clear on his face—it always was when it radiated through the force with enough strength to make _Anakin_ wince. “These threats are not only _unnecessary_ , they are blatantly _counterproductive._ We are far too close to Separatist territory to be seen this close to an unaffiliated planet. The longer we stand here and _argue,_ the more likely it is that we’ll attract some _unwanted_ visitors. Now. I, for one, am in desperate need of a shower, so I am returning to the ship. _Are you coming with me?_

Well. Obi-Wan certainly never expected to see both his master and his apprentice look at him so clearly cowed by his words, but there they stood, Anakin rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand, his mouth twisted to the side, and Qui-Gon, face serene but ears and cheeks flushed a bright pink. 

Cody, Obi-Wan knew, was surely laughing at him. 

Still, Anakin and Qui-Gon boarded the transport quietly, Anakin grabbing a strap with long ease and Qui-Gon following his lead with that same natural competence that spoke of long practice doing new things as if they were old habits. The troops jumped back on board, Cody the last just as the transport lifted off, the sides closing behind them. Obi-Wan closed his eyes the way he always did when they were this close to the ground. The war had gotten him far more comfortable with space travel than he had been, even as padawan to a Jedi as in demand as Qui-Gon, but he would never be fond of in-air flight. 

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, Anakin and Qui-Gon both were looking at him. Obi-Wan could feel his calm returning the farther from the planet they got, and it brought many realities home as, once more, the pressures of war built upon his shoulders. He sighed.   
”But I’m afraid that Anakin is right about one thing,” Obi-Wan said, apologetically. 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Only one?” he asked, with enough humor that Anakin only gave him a little side-eye, before turning that same look on Obi-Wan, as if to agree, _Yeah, only one?_

Obi-Wan ignored the exchange, though a stray thread of worry twisted in his mind that, if they started to bond, Obi-Wan would have to deal with _both_ of them—though Qui-Gon’s ability to keep his wit comforted him. “You _are_ a security risk. I think we can forego the binders, but I am going to have to insist on confining you to quarters—at least until we can get a clear line through to the council.” 

Qui-Gon nodded, as if he had been expecting as much—though, if Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon, he was sure his master would be more than willing to wait out their return trip in the ship’s brig. It was certainly a fair sight better than some of the accommodations where they had stayed in the past—no biting insects (or any other sort of vermin), enough bunk to sleep on (though, Qui-Gon’s height would be pushing the limits), regular mess privileges (if you could consider military rations a “privilege”), and no cell mates to kill him in his sleep. There were a few years when Obi-Wan would have considered it a vacation. 

Obi-Wan was self-aware enough to know that this thought was part of the reason why his men watched him so closely, but what other choice was there? When there is only one option…

The rest of the trip was spent in tense silence, and Obi-Wan had rarely been happier to dock. He wasn’t surprised, however, to see Ahsoka standing with Rex and Torrent Company to greet them. 

Anakin was, again, the first off the ship, finger already raised and pointing at his Padawan. “I thought I told you—“

“Well, obviously, I didn’t,” Ahsoka said, her arms crossed and her hip cocked. She raised her chin when Anakin bit his lip, too angry to find the words. She was using her ‘you’re being unreasonable, Master,’ voice. Every Padawan had one, and it was a special master who could ignore it. Qui-Gon couldn’t. Obi-Wan couldn’t (except when he could because he had _some_ self control, _Anakin!_ ), and Anakin was no exception. He faltered under Ahsoka’s glare, and before he could recover, Qui-Gon had stepped off the shuttle, and Ahsoka’s eyes, when she turned to him, widened, her stance straightening imperceptibly. 

“Padawan Ahsoka Tano,” Obi-Wan began, “I would like to introduce Master Qui-Gon Jinn,” Obi-Wan smiled at her. “But it seems no introduction is necessary.” Ahsoka turned her wide eyes on Obi-Wan, but couldn’t yet make herself speak.

“It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Padawan Tano,” Qui-Gon said, and his smile was warm. “I have always wanted great-grand-padawans.” He turned the smile on Obi-Wan, who met it with one of his own. It was indeed a pleasure to have Ahsoka as a grandpadawan; she was bright and determined, and Obi-Wan could offer her all the support and advice he could while leaving the truly disciplinary actions to Anakin. Obi-Wan was suddenly sure that Qui-Gon was going to do his best to spoil Ahsoka rotten, and the quick flash of Qui-Gon’s eyes to his own, the brief wave of amusement through the Force, only confirmed his theory. 

“And you, Master Jinn,” Ahsoka said, finding her words at last. Obi-Wan was pleased to see they were the _correct_ words. It seemed as if his influence— “But aren’t you supposed to be dead?” 

—his influence was paling in face of Anakin’s way with words. Obi-Wan pinned the bridge of his nose. Behind them, Cody and Rex were chuckling, and Obi-Wan knew, if they weren’t in the presence of the generals, the rest of Torrent would be sharing in the joke. 

Luckily, Qui-Gon was Qui-Gon, and he merely raised an eyebrow. “I was dead,” he said, as if he was discussing a fashion trend from his past. “Now, I am not.” He grinned at last. “It’s going to give the council fits.” 

Obi-Wan coughed on his breath, and even Anakin seemed taken aback. Ahsoka, however, laughed, charmed. “Great-Grandmaster?” She said. “I think you are I are going to get along just fine.” 

“Ahsoka, could you escort Master Jinn to the Ambassador’s suite? Priority One Access only.” Ashoka seemed taken aback, but Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if it was that he was discussing Qui-Gon’s confinement openly, or that the code allowed in only those with general-level clearance, meaning Obi-Wan and Anakin only—but she was already adapting to the frankly bizarre circumstances, and merely nodded. 

“Of course,” she said, standing a bit taller. “Right this way, Master Jinn.” 

Qui-Gon followed Ahsoka the way he would any escort on a diplomatic mission. Anakin looked at Rex and jerked his chin after Ahsoka. Qui-Gon paid little attention to Rex and the rest of Torrent as they fell into step, but it was not dismissive—rather, it was a tacit acknowledgment of their right to be there. 

“You know,” Anakin said, his tongue prodding at the corner of his mouth. It was an absent habit that Obi-Wan had thought Anakin had broken as a teenager. “I don't remember him being quite so…” 

“Frustrating?” Obi-Wan suggested. “Infuriating? Vexing?” 

Slowly, Anakin nodded. “Yeah.” 

Obi-Wan laughed softly, not a little fond. “It’s very different when he’s being himself on your behalf. It feels very much like he’s an unstoppable force and can, single-handedly, solve all of your problems.” Anakin turned to look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. “There was a reason why he was so sought after, and was considered quite a rebel.” 

Anakin blinked, and narrowed his eyes like something suddenly made sense. “You two fought constantly, didn’t you?” 

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, “and, not really. We wouldn't have become the team that we did if we did nothing but fight. We learned early on that out-right shouting at each other would accomplish nothing. So, we began to play a game where we would each try to outsmart the other, to get the other to come round to our own point of view in such a way that he admitted it as if it was his own idea. That evolved into trying to shock each other out of our manners, and to several highly enjoyable debates. But when he was being a maverick, I had a hard time quoting the party line when I knew his motivations and agreed with his actions.” He shrugged. “It has given me the ability to manage the slicker of the politicians, and to get away with more than I otherwise would with the council.” 

Anakin snorted. “Well, I’m going to do make sure Ahsoka doesn’t take out her frustrations with her lightsabers.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Or that Qui-Gon doesn’t poach your Padawan?’ 

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Obi-Wan, go shower,” he said with fond exasperation, and jogged away after the others. Obi-Wan stood for a minute, started, then sniffed at his shoulder. 

Oh, _stars._

Obi-Wan looked up at Cody, and pointed a finger. “I’ve seen you after missions, I don’t want to hear it,” he said. Cody’s silence was like a physical thing, and Obi-Wan would not consider himself a true Jedi Master if he couldn’t read the signs of his commander’s mood. Obi-Wan sighed. 

“Yes, Cody? What is it?” 

Cody didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. “How sure are you that this isn’t a separatist plot? I’m no Jedi, but I’m pretty sure the Force can’t resurrect the dead.” 

Obi-Wan sighed. This was getting into heretical territory, but Cody did ask, and it was a question Obi-Wan couldn’t deny had occurred to him as well, no matter how he wished it hadn’t. 

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” 

“It never is, sir,” Cody said, and his tone was desert dry. It was enough to make Obi-Wan crack a smile. He was lucky to have Cody—the man’s pragmatism never failed to help Obi-Wan regain his equilibrium. 

“The Jedi cannot raise the dead, it’s true,” Obi-Wan began, gesturing for Cody to follow him as he headed towards the bridge. “It is antithesis to the way we view the world—we are not our bodies, Cody, we are the Force. When the body dies, the Force remains. But…” Obi-Wan trailed off, trying to think of the best way to phrase this. “There were reports from when the Sith were last a force in this galaxy, that they had devised a method of returning departed souls into the living, or recently deceased. It was the basis form of possession, and while the reports are unable to be corroborated and are therefore not considered part of the canon of Jedi learning, it certainly _feels_ like it could be true.” Obi-Wan glanced over at Cody, offering him a self-aware smile. “It’s considered one of the reasons that the Jedi burn their dead on a pyre—no body, no possession.” 

Cody considered for a moment, but Obi-Wan don’t have to wait long. Cody’s quick processing was one of Obi-Wan’s favorite traits. “Why not jump into the living, then. Even if the Sith is focused on the Jedi, surely they could jump into someone who comes to visit the body.” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan admitted, “But it’s much harder. The soul doesn’t want to leave the body, and being alive gives the living and advantage over the dead, particularly in someone who is Force-sensitive and trained. The Sith, with their doctrine for power, generally aren’t interested in non-sensitive hosts.” 

Cody nodded, accepting this. “And General Skywalker said he watched Master Jinn’s body burn, which means that Master Jinn isn’t possessed by a Sith.” 

“He did,” Obi-Wan said. “We both did. It was my first act as a knight after claiming Anakin. It should have fallen to me to light the pyre, but I….” Obi-Wan shook his head. It had been too close, too raw.

“So no, Cody. This is neither a Jedi skill nor a known Sith trick, but my Master lectured to me for many hours that anything is possible in the Force.” Obi-Wan shook his head to clear it. “Set course for Coruscant, Cody. We’ll depart as soon as I speak with the Council.” 

“Yes, sir,” Cody said. 

***

It was rare to get the entire council present, even by holo, away from the council chambers. So, Obi-Wan was unsurprised, if disappointed, that he only reached three: Master Yoda, Mace, and Plo Koon, who must have just reached Coruscant, as Obi-Wan had been on campaign with him a little over a week ago. The rest must be out in the field, or like Shaak Ti, stationed elsewhere. 

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted with a bow. 

“Master Kenobi,” Mace began. “How successful was your mission? Did Madame Nu’s research bear fruit?” 

Yoda hummed before Obi-Wan could answer. “Find something, you did, yes, or call us thus, you would not. Unexpected it was, but unwelcome, it was not.” 

One day, Obi-Wan would stop being so surprised by Yoda’s prescience. 

“Exactly that,” Obi-Wan said. “I have my own assessment, but to be honest, the situation is so strange, and our position is such, that to proceed without the council’s approval could prove disastrous. Not just to the war effort, but to the Jedi and the galaxy, itself.” 

That certainly made them sit up and take notice. Plo leaned forward, his clawed hands tightening on his knees. “Obi-Wan, what did you find?” 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it, ignoring the looks shared between the other members of the council. “I’m not sure where to begin, or how to explain, and I’m certainly not comfortable doing so even over an encrypted channel. Suffice it to say that, while the temple ruins yielded no weapons, they did yield help--if we can trust it.” He paused. “And I do, Masters, even when all logic directs me not to; I follow the Force’s guidance in this.” 

Mace shook his head, clearly not happy, but Yoda spoke and his tone brooked no defiance. “Return to Coruscant, you will. See for ourselves, this help you have found.” 

Obi-Wan nodded. “Our course is already set.” 

As one, the Council nodded, giving Obi-Wan the go-ahead. Before the feed cut, Plo spoke once more. 

“May the Force be With you, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan bowed. “And you, Masters.” 

The feed cut, and within moments, Obi-Wan felt the shuddering of the deck under his feet that meant they were in hyperspace at last. Obi-Wan looked at Cody. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my quarters.” He picked at the front of his robes as he left the bridge. Unless something came up, the next few hours were his, and he had a date with his shower. 

***

It wasn't the longest Obi-Wan ever had to go without a shower, nor was he the filthiest he had ever been, but there was something about knowing exactly _how_ he had gotten dirty that made his skin itch. It made him very aware of just how he smelled, of what he smelled of, because if he stood too close to someone, they might _recognize_ …

(Of course, they could smell that sicky-sweet scent and just think that he had hurt himself again, and not question, but _what if…_ )

Obi-Wan stopped mid-stride, momentarily thrown by the wall of panicked horror he felt at that. It was one thing for knowledge of an—an engagement or romance to be made known, or even for the explicit details of an encounter to become so much locker room gossip, but to have those details _smelled_ …

Obi-Wan shook his head and hurried to his quarters. 

His clothes were shed as soon as he was on the other side of the locked door, stuffed into the tiny ship-board recycler unit and, paradoxically, now that he was naked he was even more aware of the scent of him—of them, together, on his skin. Now, safe from prying eyes, he felt his heart begin to race for an entirely different reason, and he had to close his eyes against the sudden wave of lust. 

“Oh, Force,” He whispered, feeling his body flush, the sense memory of Qui-Gon’s hands on his skin so strong it was staggering. It had been so long since he had been touched, since he had even wanted anyone in the way—he hadn’t thought he’d missed this. Heat throbbed low in his belly, and he felt himself begin to grow hard. 

Shower. He needed a shower. 

In the back of his mind, the small glowing presence that was his link with Qui-Gon pulsed in time with the heat coursing through him, and as he forced himself to move, he could feel Qui-Gon’s amusement. 

_”What are you doing?”_ Obi-Wan thought, warily. 

_”Nothing,”_ Qui-Gon sent back. _“Just making use of these quarters’ ‘fresher.”_ Of course, the words were accompanied by an image—Qui-Gon under a steady stream of water, hands sliding over slick skin as he reached down to fist his thick cock. 

Obi-Wan stumbled, tripping over his own feet as he was suddenly, desperately hard. “Qui!” He scolded aloud (or, at least, attempted to scold. It had come out for too close to a plea). “Not fair!”

Qui-Gon laughed in reply, the sound shifting into a moan as he stroked himself. 

Obi-Wan swore, fumbling with the controls of his shower. Normally, when shipboard, Obi-Wan used sonics exclusively, too conscious of the limited water supply to use even his allotted ration. He could do without, so he would, in case someone else was in need. 

Today, however, he reached blindly for the water controls and caught a spray of ice-cold water to his nethers. 

Qui-Gon hissed as if the ice had done its work on _him_ , but Obi-Wan could finally _think_ again. Slowly, the water began to warm and Obi-Wan began to wash, smug. 

He had done his best planetside, but there were still patches of dried sweat and come, a streak of dried bacta that had gone tacky, sticking his underclothes to his skin and pulling—he scrubbed himself until pink, his mind stuck on how Qui-Gon has looked, how he had _felt_ …

Obi-Wan reached back between his legs with a soapy hand; his hole felt hot, swollen and _sensitized_. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was a bit bruised, but the bacta had done its job, and there was no pain, just a heightened awareness that made his breath catch and his knees tremble. Carefully, he pushed in with one finger, feeling himself tighten and clench, his pulse—

_”Fuck,”_ Qui-Gon hissed in Obi-Wan’s head. _”Obi, my love, don’t tease.”_

_Tease?_ Obi-Wan considered the request, and felt a wicked smile split his lips. He pushed in further, still loosened from the night before, bending his fingers as best he could, but they barely brushed that place inside of him, and he whimpered. 

Obi-Wan braced a hand against the shower wall, angling his hips back of his next thrust. It was good, but—he paused to add a bit of shower gel, already distantly missing the bacta, and pushed back in with two fingers. He moaned, the sound echoing in the small chamber as he rocked, his cock heavy and swinging between his legs, in need of _something_. 

In the haze of his arousal, Obi-Wan would swear he felt Qui-Gon behind him, tall and broad and warm, the hair from his beard tickling Obi-Wan’s skin as he pressed a kiss to his shoulder. _”I would do so much more,”_ Qui-Gon admitted softly, and the phantom Qui-Gon leaned back to scratch his nails down Obi-Wan’s back. 

Obi-Wan panted, bracing himself against the wall with his shoulder, his forehead pressed to the cool plastisteel, and reached down to take his cock in hand, to pump his hips into his fist even as he rocked back on his own fingers, wishing they were Qui-Gon’s, thick and rough. He was panting, making high, needy sounds on each exhale, and they filled his ears. He was being too loud—he was going to get caught—

A wave of pleasure hit him, so deep and all encompassing it took a long, gasping moment for Obi-Wan to realize that the pleasure was not his own—that Qui-Gon had come so spectacularly that his force presence had faded from the room. 

Obi-Wan’s own climax was near, but still frustratingly out of reach. _”Please,”_ he thought. _”Please”_. 

_”Yes,”_ he heard, and then felt the phantom touch of two familiar hands spread across either side of his ribs, stroking downward to cup his hips and Obi-Wan moaned, hips stuttering. 

”Come for me, Obi-Wan” Qui-Gon whispered in his ear, and it was all he needed to come explosively, with a sharp cry cut short in a gasp—

And he sagged, panting heavily against the wall. 

Breathed. 

Qui-Gon stroked a hand over Obi-Wan’s hair. 

The ‘fresher beeped an end-of-cycle warning, and Obi-Wan forced himself to rinse before the water shut itself off, and ended the flow with a careless wave of his hand. Qui-Gin was a warm, sated presence, and Obi-Wan sighed. 

“You needn’t be so smug about it,” Obi-Wan said aloud, and felt Qui-Gon’s laughter. 

_“Shall I see you for lunch?”_

Obi-Wan’s stomach growled even as he felt his neck heat once more, and he sighed, closing his eyes and smiling. _“It would be my absolute pleasure.”_


	3. We're Bacta! A Dinosaur's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title has absolutely nothing to do with the plot, and THERE BE PLOT HERE. Thank you to everyone who helped with this chapter, you know who you are, you beautiful people.

Food on a Star Destroyer pushed the limit of what Obi-Wan would consider food—to the point where it was actually easier to think of it as “nutrients” in order to change his expectations, because _that’s what it was_. Meals were made with nutrition, efficiency, and cost in mind, and no consideration towards palatability. They tried, however. Obi-Wan was very sure they tried hard, even, but there was nothing anyone could do to make pre-processed nutrition paste taste good. At least the terrible food in the Jedi temple commissary was actual food, just cooked to the point of being barely recognizable. 

There had been a rumor, a while back, that Obi-Wan lived on tea and the Force, given how little he was ever seen in the mess. Why they didn’t just assume he ate in his quarters, Obi-Wan doubted he would ever know, and judging by the looks and frankly insulting waves of disbelief coming his way, the rumors must still hold traction. 

The officer’s mess was located at the far end of the general mess, and Obi-Wan, when he bothered, usually ate there. The food wasn’t any more palatable, though again rumor said it was, but it _was_ quieter and caused less of a commotion among the men. 

Out of habit, Obi-Wan headed to the officer’s mess to fix Qui-Gon and himself a tray of food. The eating area was mostly deserted—too late for mid-meal, too early for late-meal—but there were still a few familiar faces. Anakin’s face was the most familiar, and Obi-Wan was startled to see Anakin eating with one hand while the other typed on a pad. Obi-Wan recognized the stubborn look on his former padawan’s face, and for a moment, Anakin was a padawan once more, studying for his final exams. Once Obi-Wan had stumbled across Anakin sitting on the floor, typing at 2 pads at once, with a third on the ground before him, and feeding himself from the bowl that rested at his left knee. It had been a display of fine control, until Anakin noticed Obi-Wan and spilled his food down his chest. 

Obi-Wan felt a fizzle of guilt as he passed Anakin without saying hello, telling himself that it was better to just let Anakin work. Anakin always did get cranky when someone interrupted his train of thought, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Obi-Wan wanting some alone time with Qui-Gon as _quickly as possible._ No, far better to let Anakin work. 

Mid-meal had apparently been some sort of attempt at a nerf-steak stew. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan knew that, even if he had been in the mess when the food was fresh, it would look no less congealed. 

His stomach rumbled, and Obi-Wan placed a hand over his midsection. Oh, dear. Not-nerf-stew it is, then. Quickly, Obi-Wan loaded a tray with two bowls, a few packets of quick-rise bread powder, and the compressed algae bars that he had developed a fondness for while growing up with Bant. He was just about to leave, wondering if he had enough time to return to his rooms to procure some tea, when Anakin called to him. 

“Obi-Wan!”

_Hells,_ Obi-Wan thought, and turned to see Anakin waving him over. With an internal sigh, Obi-Wan joined him, though he remained standing. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan greeted. “Working hard?” He nodded at the datapad. 

Anakin waved his mechanical hand. The silverware on his tray shook, and Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin was even aware of it. Once again, Obi-Wan found himself quietly in awe of the sheer strength of Anakin’s Force ability. “Reports,” Anakin said, bored. “Nothing important.”

And then, like always, Obi-Wan was reminded of the actual man. He closed his eyes against Anakin’s casual disregard for the bureaucratic side of war. Obi-Wan didn’t like the reports either, but he much preferred them to some of the horrors he’d witnessed in this war. 

Still, Obi-Wan had a long history dealing with Qui-Gon’s distaste for reports. Of course, as a padawan, Obi-Wan had solved the problem by simply writing the reports himself—something Mace had forbidden him from doing _ever again_ (standing in the middle of the rooms Obi-Wan had once shared with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan’s heart numb as he watched that vein pulse in MAce’s temple. Mace’s expression had softened when Obi-Wan had offered quiet appologies, and that had been _worse_ ), once he had figured it out when Obi-Wan had started filing solo reports.

“I do wish you’d treat reporting with a bit more respect, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “The GAR can not function if—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Anakin said. He always did revert to rim-basic when he was tired. Obi-Wan had never asked Anakin to learn to speak with a core accent, certain that Anakin’s actions would speak louder as befitting a Jedi Knight, but when Anakin took the initiative, he hadn’t forbidden it, either. (Maybe he should have; he knew how cruel the other younglings could be, and though his experience with their darker side had pretty much ended when he became a padawan, he should have foreseen that Anakin’s experience would be different. Did he do the right thing?) “You gonna sit?” 

Obi-Wan lifted his tray. “I thought I’d bring food to our…guest,” he said. 

“Uh huh,” Anakin said, flat. “You know what? I’m done here. I’ll come with you.” Anakin stood to clear his tray, and Obi-Wan took a step backwards. 

“You don’t have to—“

“Nah, it’s fine,” Anakin said, floating his tray over to the waste station in a blatantly frivolous use of the Force. Obi-Wan could _feel_ the lecture building on his tongue, but he bit down on it. He knew that Anakin wouldn’t listen; that Anakin would argue that his use was entirely necessary because otherwise Obi-Wan would run away to visit Qui-Gon by himself. (Worst of all, Obi-Wan couldn’t say he was wrong.) 

Obi-Wan sighed. “Very well. I’m sure he’d love to see you.” Obi-Wan turned, Anakin a half-step behind, almost like a proper padawan, before his long legs caught him up and he walked abreast with Obi-Wan. Looking into his mind as they walked, Obi-Wan tapped the place where Qui-Gon lived to let him know that Obi-Wan was on his way, and to expect company. He got a quiet, bemused acknowledgment and Obi-Wan withdrew to the present. 

“How can you be so sure it's him?” Anakin asked. “The Sith excel at deception—he could be—“

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed with exaggerated patience. “Which is why he’s confined to quarters and we’re taking him to the Council—“

“Which could be exactly what he wants!” Anakin exclaimed, stopping Obi-Wan with a hand on his arm. “How do we know that isn’t his mission, to attack from inside the temple?” 

Obi-Wan sighed. “Really, Anakin?” he shook his head, but Anakin had always been good a planting seeds of doubt in Obi-Wan’s mind. “If that were the case, certainly they would pick a more believable ruse?” 

“Would they?” Anakin asked, stepping in and dropping his voice. “Because from where I’m standing? It’s _working._ ” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The worst—the worst was that Anakin _wasn’t wrong._ He took a deep breath, hating that his control was so shaken. 

“Do you really think I don’t know that?” he asked, quietly. “Every logical concern is screaming at me not to trust him, but every instinct I have says that _this is Qui-Gon Jinn—_ and the Force sings it back to me.” 

Anakin’s eyes were dark, his brow furrowed. He looked _concerned_ for Obi-Wan, and the fact that that revelation took Obi-Wan back made him uneasy. What else had he missed about Anakin’s emotional state? Was this Attachment, or something worse? Better? Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could tell anymore. 

“I wish I could be so sure,” Anakin said, looking away at last and breaking the spell. 

Obi-Wan forced himself to smile, and shook off his train of thought, resigning himself to even less alone time with his former Master. There were still four days until they reached Courscant. They would find more time. 

“Come on, then,” Obi was said. “Talk to him, Anakin. You’ll see, as I did.” 

Anakin’s disbelief was plain on his face, and much more familiar to Obi-Wan than that terrible sympathy (was that it? Was it sympathy? or empathy? Which was truly worse?). Still, he stepped back, allowing Obi-Wan to walk forward once more. Anakin was quiet, thinking, the rest of the way there. 

They stopped at the door to Qui-Gon's rooms, and Anakin stared at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan stared back. After a moment, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Well?” he asked. “Are you going to open the door?” He held up the tray to emphasis his lack of hands. Anakin scowled, but palmed the door controls, giving his authorization code. 

The door slid open and Anakin pushed past to enter first. Obi-Wan frowned when Anakin knocked into the tray, but nothing spilled—Obi-Wan was even glad of it when he finally waked in. Qui-Gon, his hair still wet and spilling down across his shoulders, was kneeling in the middle of the room, and Obi-Wan’s mind went to static, and then flashed back to their shower. He closes his eyes, shaking his head to chase the images away (not in front of Anakin!), and when he opened them again, he caught Qui-Gon’s smirk, his own eyes dark with promise. 

Thank the Force for Anakin’s obliviousness, because his dear former padawan seemed to miss _all_ of that, crossing his arms and staring down at Qui-Gon. 

“I would offer you tea,” Qui-Gon said, his smile rueful. “But I don’t appear to have any.” 

“We shall have to remedy that,” Obi-WAn said, putting the tray on the table and fetching three glasses of water from the room’s small kitchenette—merely a station for drinks, and rewarming cooked food, but seeing as that was the extent of Qui-Gon's skills in the kitchen, it mattered little. “But I’m afraid you’ll find your options rather limited these days. It’s nearly impossible to get some of the better teas—I haven't had a decent red since the war started, what with the embargoes and blockades,” Obi-Wan commented as he unloaded the tray, falling quickly back into old habits. For all that Qui-Gon had to chase Obi-Wan down in the library stacks, or at the training saile to remind him to eat, it was Obi-Wan who clung to the rituals of the meals. He looked up at Qui-Gon. “But never fear—we can still get that horrible green you keep insisting is palatable.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled, rolling easily to his feet. “It is an acquired taste,” he admitted. “One I mostly acquired to irritate my master.” 

“And kept to vex your padawan!” Obi-Wan shot back, and stepped back from the table. Qui-Gon stood next Anakin (and how was it that Obi-Wan managed to surround himself with such giant men?); with Qui-Gon’s arms crossed and his smile warm, Obi-Wan felt as if he was seeing a vision from his past, and felt, for a brief moment, the ghost of a braid falling against his shoulder. 

The moment passed, and Qui-Gon was a solid presence in his mind once more. 

Anakin's face, however, was doing some rather impressive emotional acrobatics, flipping between distrust, amusement, and confusion. 

Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched with hunger once more, and he waved his hand at the food. “It’s not the best we’ve eaten, but it won’t kill us, either.” 

“That alone is a pleasant change,” Qui-Gon said, and Anakin snorted his amusement, rather despite himself. While Anakin’s definition of what made edible food was much…broader…than Obi-Wan’s own, they had their fair share of memorably inedible adventures. 

Qui-Gon sat at the table, Obi-Wan following a half-moment later. It was enough to make Anakin’s unscarred eyebrow rise—and confirmed to Obi-Wan that Anakin well knew the proper protocol, and just decided that it didn’t apply to him. Yet, there was a level of irritation there that spoke to a deeper concern; Anakin didn’t like Obi-Wan following the protocols either. It wasn’t the first time that Obi-Wan had thought so, and honestly, Anakin had all but admitted it as a young padawan, so there was more there than simple distrust of Qui-Gon. 

Why hadn’t Obi-Wan realized that before? Anakin was far from subtle; what other obvious clue had Obi-Wan missed? 

Obi-Wan ate a bite of stew mechanically, knowing that he would have to eat if he were to get his stomach to calm, and paused to look down at his bowl in surprise. It was—not bad, honestly. The strongest flavoring was still salt, and the texture of the meat was not optimal, but Obi-Wan felt his mouth begin to salivate just the same, and ate his next few bites much more quickly. His bowl was half empty before he remembered himself enough to look up, and saw Qui-Qon smiling at him (his own bowl was looking just as empty as Obi-Wan’s). Anakin had his glass of water in his hand, held halfway to his mouth as he watched Obi-Wan with some surprise. Obi-Wan fought the flush. 

“May I help you?” he asked, only slightly tetchy. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were gearing for a growth spurt,” Qui-Gon commented idly, taking a bite of stew to camouflage his grin. (It didn’t work).

Obi-Wan sniffed. “I’m perfectly fine at the height I am, thank you,” he said, and then narrowed his eyes. “Besides, you’ve never complained about my size.” 

Qui-Gon’s eyes glittered, and Anakin choked on his water. Obi-Wan turned to him, all concern. “Are you all right?” 

Anakin coughed, waving him off. “I’m fine,” he croaked, and then jumped when his comm beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and thumbed the switch. “What is it, Rex?” 

_”Incoming transmission from Coruscant,”_ Rex replied. _”Senator Amidala’s office.”_

Anakin brightened like the doubled dawn on Tatooine. “Ah. Thank you Rex. Assure the senator that I’ll be there presently.” 

_”Yes, sir,” _Rex said, and Obi-Wan was pleased to note that he now knew the Captain enough to recognize the fond exasperation in Rex’s voice. It seemed that Obi-Wan was not the only one who recognize just where his former padawan’s affections lay.__

__Anakin stood, halfway to the door before he stopped and turned, suddenly torn. Obi-Wan smiled._ _

__“It’s all right, Anakin,” he said. “Best not keep Padme waiting.”_ _

__Anakin opened his mouth, and stopped, closing it again. He raised his metal hand and pointed at the both of them, as if telling them to stay. Or possibly, telling them to behave._ _

__The first Obi-Wan didn’t think would be a problem. The latter…well, they would certainly behave in some fashion, Obi-Wan was more than sure. A moment later, Anakin was gone._ _

__“He’s protective of you,” Qui-Gon said. “it’s clear he cares for you deeply.”_ _

__“Too deeply, I fear,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh, turning back to his stew. It was less palatable cool, but he still finished quickly. It was gone within a few bites. “Anakin has always struggled with his attachments, much as I have struggled to free him from them.” Obi-Wan snorted. “Of course, it’s quite hypocritical of me, but it is often said that we see our own flaws clearest in other people.” He sighed, taking a sip of his water. “I fear his inability to let things go will cause him much pain.”_ _

__“Or, ultimately, save him,” Qui-Gon said._ _

__Obi-Wan looked at him sharply, setting his glass on the table with a click. “What do you mean?”_ _

__Qui-Gon took another bite of his stew, unhurried. It was a familiar tactic, one Qui-Gon used often to gain time to gather his thoughts—one Obi-Wan had used more and more often as the war continued and he found himself at state dinner after diplomatic function. Obi-Wan had tried to pass the tactic on to Anakin, but had met with little success; Anakin ate quickly and often spoke without thinking. Maybe Qui-Gon could teach what Obi-Wan couldn’t._ _

__Qui-Gon wiped his lips on his napkin, carefully placing it at the table. “There’s not much to do when you’re dead,” he began with conversational ease, but Obi-Wan still had to brace himself though the jolt of his words. “Other than think and try to speak with those who can listen, of course.”_ _

__“Of course,” Obi-Wan murmured._ _

__Qui-Gon’s eyes warmed. “It has caused me to re-evaluate many of my previous beliefs,” he continued. Still, he hesitated before he went on. “…Including the nature of galactic balance.”_ _

__Obi-Wan frowned. Galactic balance was the whole point—it was what the Jedi strove for, what Qui-Gon had died for. “If Anakin is the chosen one, the right kind of balance is the key.”_ _

___If._ IF. _ _

__Raising an eyebrow, Obi-Wan ran his thumb along his fingers, a nervous tic he had developed to help him remember not to cross his arms when it was a sign of anxiety and not Jedi reserve. “I’m not sure what you mean, Master. Balance is balance. By definition, there is only one meaning.”_ _

__“But still more than one path,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat. The Force rang with Qui-Gon’s words, like a crystal bell, and the sound nearly took his breath._ _

__Obi-Wan ran his hand over his face, smoothing over his beard. He held his own chin between his fingers as he looked at Qui-Gon. “That sounds like heresy, Master,” Obi-Wan said, forcing levity he didn’t fully feel into his voice. “I’m surprised it took you this long.”_ _

__Qui-Gon tilted his head, frowning like Obi-Wan had missed the point, and Obi-Wan felt his jaw set, readying for a criticism, a chastisement—something that Obi-Wan could push back against. Obi-Wan, for all his belief in tradition, did not have the same faith in the council as he had as a Padawan—Anakin was proof enough of that, both in his training and their current bond._ _

__Yet, an argument never came. Instead, Qui-Gon spoke, the cadence familiar, even if the words were unexpected._ _

__“‘Passion, yet Peace; Serenity, yet Emotion; Chaos, yet Order; Death, yet the Force.’”_ _

__Obi-Wan leaned forwards. “That sounds like the Code.”_ _

__“It is the Code,” Qui-Gon said. “Or a translation of it, anyway. It is the Code as it existed before the Schism.”_ _

__“Before the Schism!” Obi-Wan cried. Qui-Gon raised his hands, but Obi-Wan shook his head. “Qui-Gon! The Schism happened for a _reason_ —and the Code was revised to _reflect_ that.”_ _

__“The Code was reformed to further separate us from the Sith, and that is all,” Qui-Gon said, firm. “And _look what has come of it!_ ” He brought his hand down on the table, rattling the silverware, and it was just enough to stop Obi-Wan’s next protest on his lips. Qui-Gon’s eyes were intense, and Obi-Wan could not look away. “I am not saying that the Sith are correct in their ways, or even that we should be more like the Sith, but I am saying that before we were two, we were one, and we existed together. Since the Schism our numbers have fluctuated—first they are more, and then we, and always conflict erupts to bring the numbers back down again.” _ _

__Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and stopped, eyes unfocused as he listened to the Force around him hum with a strange melancholy that was very close to regret—but he could detect no falsehood. He looked at Qui-Gon. “You think we’re facing such a conflict.” Qui-Gon pressed his lips together, and Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “No, you think we’re already in it.”_ _

__“The reappearance of the Sith was no accident,” Qui-Gon said, quietly. “It was merely the first visible move in a long game that has been in play for a very, very long time—longer, even than Sidious has been in play.”_ _

__Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “And as the Sith grow, the Jedi diminish.” It was hard, but he resisted the urge to hang his head. “Here I was thinking this was the beginning, but it’s not, is it. It’s the final act.”_ _

__“It would be, except for one thing the Sith did not count on,” Qui-Gon said, and his eyes burned with the force of his conviction. “I know how the Chosen one can restore true balance.”_ _


	4. Bacta 4: The Final Chapter*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Miss Pop and TAKFAB, for their inspiration and continued cheering--
> 
> and all of you lovely people who commented--it's what keeps this story going!
> 
> *This is not the final chapter.

Obi-Wan nearly dropped his glass, quickly recovering to settle it on the table with both hands. “You can’t possibly,” he protested. 

 

“Well,” Qui-Gon said, cocking his head. “I do. From a certain point of view.” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Contrary to what his padawan believed, Obi-Wan was _intimately familiar_ with how frustrating that phrase could be. “You have a theory.” 

 

Qui-Gon sat back, confirming everything for Obi-Wan. “A theory based on the combined wisdom of my teachers from beyond the veil,” Qui-Gon corrected. “And one that has so far been supported by the living force.” 

 

Obi-Wan wiped his and over his face, covering his mouth with his hand and watching Qui-Gon with tired eyes. Some things, it seemed, not even death could change. Once his mind was set on a path, a team of gundarks couldn’t chase him away—for good or ill. Obi-Wan couldn’t say he missed this. 

 

For his share, Qui-Gon was not oblivious to Obi-Wan’s dismay, as he had been on several occasions in the past. It made something shift in Qui-Gon’s shoulders, like tectonic upheaval, and he softened. 

 

"You are quite attached to him,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the words. 

 

"I know,” he said quietly, as befitting the confession it was. Obi-Wan would do anything for Anakin—had threatened, even, to leave the order. Twice. Anakin was closer to him—he was _family._ Some council member Obi-Wan made, with his failure in giving in to this attachment. Some master. 

 

“No!” Qui-Gon said quickly, reaching in and taking Obi-Wan’s hand in his own. His fingers were warm, his palms rough and thick with ‘saber callous. Obi-Wan opened his eyes quite in spite of himself. “That is good!” Qui-Gon insisted quietly. “Be attached. My biggest regret is not telling you of the depth of my feelings for you—my own attachments.” He shook Obi-Wan’s hand, urgent. “Do not repeat my mistakes, Obi-Wan. Tell him how you feel!”

 

“He knows,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin knew how much Obi-Wan cared for him. Didn’t he? “Either way,” he said, pushing all thoughts of his padawan and attachment to the back of his mind. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?” 

 

Qui-Gon stared at him a moment longer, solemn and assessing. It really wasn’t like Obi-Wan to deny and ignore a problem, but…Obi-Wan wasn't a padawan anymore. He didn’t squirm, and Qui-Gon could choose not to call him on it. At last, Qui-Gon nodded. “As you wish.” 

 

“I do,” Obi-Wan said, and stood. He held out his hand. Qui-Gon tilted his head, his gaze heating as he looked Obi-Wan over. With a smirk, he took Obi-Wan’s hand. 

 

***

 

Obi-Wan’s shoulders hit the cold bulkhead wall, his head cradled against impact by Qui-Gon’s hand even as Obi-Wan was hefted higher. The scent of sweat and sex filled the small ambassador’s bedroom, and under it all that ever-present sickly sweet scent of over-ripe fruit. 

 

“I am never going to be able to walk into a medi-center without growing hard,” Obi-Wan panted. Qui-Gon chuckled in his ear, and thrust his hips, dropping Obi-Wan further down onto his cock. Obi-Wan choked on his cry. 

 

“Oh,” Qui-Gon muttered, breathless, against Obi-Wan’s collarbone, trailing lips and tongue and beard up Obi-Wan’s neck, nipping at his jaw, his ear. “I’m sure you’ll manage.” 

 

Obi-Wan tilted his head back, laughter spilling out from deep within, his being suffused with joy. He had Qui-Gon _here_ , that irreverent humor and conviction—fucking him hard and fast against the wall, claiming that even the greater sized accommodations afforded to dignitaries were still not big enough for Qui-Gon to have Obi-Wan properly. 

 

And, well—Obi-Wan understood the _importance_ of _propriety._

 

Qui-Gon shifted his grip on Obi-Wan’s thighs, pulling him forward, and Obi-Wan threw his arms up, braced against the wall as the new position changed the angle of Qui-Gon’s thrusting. Qui-Gon drove his cock against that deep bundle of nerves until Obi-Wan’s vision filled with stars like he was flying though hyperspace, and Obi-Wan gasped, eyes fluttering as pleasure built inside him. 

 

“Qui,” he panted. “ _Qui._ ” 

 

“That's it,” Qui-Gon said, low and thick and rough. “You look so perfect on my cock.” 

 

The words shuddered through him, and Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open in surprise. No warning. No time—

 

“ _Qui!_ ” Obi-Wan cried out and came, his cry sliding into a wail as he bucked and shuddered, still pinned in place. 

 

Qui-Gon never slowed, his pace sure and unrelenting, driving every last shred of pleasure and leaving Obi-Wan spent and twitching. 

 

Obi-Wan panted, soft, hitching gasps on every thrust as he weakly tried to meet Qui-Gon’s motions. 

 

“Look at you,” Qui-Gon breathed. “Gorgeous. So pretty, flushed and dazed with it. Like you were made to be fucked.” He pulled one hand, holding Obi-Wan’s leg in place with a blatant misuse of the Force, to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek. “I want to keep you here, like this, drunk on lust.” Obi-Wan tried to focus on Qui-Gon, but his vision was pleasantly blurry. Qui-Gin’s thumb was near his mouth, however, and it was easy to turn his head, suck the digit into his mouth, tasting salt and skin and bitter bacta. 

 

Qui-Gon moaned, thrusting in with his thumb, matching the pace of his hips, and Obi-Wan hummed, sucking on the digit. 

 

“Never let you go,” Qui-Gon murmured, leaning in. His hand pulled away, his thumb pulling Obi-Wan’s mouth open, and Qui-Gon kissed him with tongue and desperate teeth. 

 

 _Obi-Wan,_ Qui-Gon sent a tendril, a curl of his own lust/pleasure down their link, and Obi-Want whimpered against Qui-Gon’s mouth. Obi-Wan dropped a hand to drag his nails up Qui-Gon’s back, and Qui-Gon lost himself, hips stuttering wild. The link open, Obi-Wan writhed, caught up in Qui-Gon’s release as he climaxed a second time, spurting weakly. 

 

When the shocks began to fade, Obi-Wan found himself pressed to the wall, now warm from their effort, his legs still around Qui-Gon’s hips, and his weight supported by the press of Qui-Gon’s bulk. 

 

Obi-Wan’s hands fell to Qui-Gon’s face, and he kissed him, slow and sweet, not yet ready to be put down, to separate. His mind, for once, was blissfully blank, like the snows of Illium. In this moment, he could simply--be.

 

Too soon, Qui-Gon pulled back, pressing his forehead to Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan felt the swell of emotion through their bond, curling warm in his stomach like mulled wine. He hummed, and gave voice to the feeling welling up from within him. 

 

“I love you,” Obi-Wan whispered. 

 

"And I you,” Qui-Gon said, with honest simplicity. He reached up and cupped Obi-Wan’s head with his hand, running his thumb under Obi-Wan's cheek. _Which is why I'm not going to let you run forever,_ Qui-Gon sent quietly over a wave of concerned affection.

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. _Not yet,_ he thought. "Let me just have you for a little while longer – before I have to share you with half the galaxy.” He looked into Qui-Gon’s eyes, finding only warmth. "Please."

 

Qui-Gon kissed him again, lingering slow and sweet. “I will give you as long as I am able.” 

 

Eventually, they moved to Qui-Gon’s bed. It was moderately adjustable, and expanded to full-size, but it was still a tight fit with the two of them. Still, they had shared worse. At least they were able to lie flat this time, without rocks or bugs or dangerous beasts out to get them. Obi-Wan found himself tangled in limbs, more on top of Qui-Gon than next to him—

 

Between one breath in the next, he was asleep. He did not dream.

 

_The bed was warm and smelled like the oil Qui-Gon preferred – deep smoke and sweet wood, and Obi-Wan sighed as he stretched. It wasn't often that he slept in his master’s bed—not since his nightmares begin to fade years ago–but sometimes, after test assignments or late nights…_

 

Obi-Wan paused in his stretching. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t feel the weight of his braid, or the way the hair from his nerf-tail would brush the top of his shoulder. The skin on his cheek itched under his beard. He was sore in places he hadn't been as a Padawan–

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes shot open. Sitting up quickly, the blanket pooled at his waist, in an awkward moment of déjà vu. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he pressed his hand to his sternum as he forced himself to breathe, to be calm. He heard Qui-Gon moving about in the main chamber, so familiar and yet...Quickly, Obi-Wan re-dressed to join him.

 

Qui-Gon was standing at the kitchenette, looking through the empty cabinets, his displeasure hovering around him like a fog. Obi-Wan leaned against the door frame, just to watch. In the artificial light of the room, Qui-Gon looked a bit less...a bit more...

 

He was younger than Obi-Wan remembered. There was more brown than grey in his hair and beard, and the lines around his eyes were not as deep. Though he hid it well, and it never seemed to bother him in the field, Qui-Gon’s left knee would stiffen if he stay crouched for too long. As Obi-Wan watched, Qui-Gon crouched with ease as he dug in the lower cabinets. He was dressed simply in his leggings, wearing them like sleep pants, and Obi-Wan watched the light play off the shifting muscles in his back. 

 

Qui-Gon was here. Real. _Here._ Obi-Wan didn’t know if he'd ever stop wanting to watch, or if he’d ever trust himself to close his eyes.

 

At last,Qui-Gon sighed, muttering a soft curse. “What kind of blasted ship is this?”

 

"Military, not pleasure liner,” Obi-Wan said, gratified to see Qui-Gon jump. He licked his lip to hide a smile. From Qui-Gon’s narrowed eyes, he wasn’t successful. It was fine. He wasn’t trying to. "We're not is stocked as we could be – but then again, it has been a long campaign “

 

"I didn't feel you wake,” Qui-Gon said. "I was – well,” he shut the cabinet and stood. He walked toward Obi-Wan--no. That’s not right. He _stalked_ forward. There was no other word for it. Loose limbed in a way that spoke of being primed for action, and heavy with the weight of muscle and the sheer size of the man. Yet, his master was a master of Ataru, and his step was light despite it all. Perhaps, then, it was his eyes that made the difference, as they smoldered when they met Obi-Wan’s own. "How do you feel?” Qui-Gon asked, pulling Obi-Wan into a hug. 

 

Obi-Wan pressed his face against Qui-Gon’s chest, breathing deeply the scent of his skin, and then blinked. “Fine," he said. It was true – he felt better than rested, then he had–well, since the war begin, to be honest. He leaned back his head to see. "Why do you ask?”

 

Qui-Gon smiled down at him. "Because it is morning," he said, and Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as he pulled back and dove for his chrono – sure enough, he had slept through from the day before–over 12 hours!

 

Obi-Wan reached out for the back of the chair next to him, bracing himself. "I never sleep that long,” he said faintly stunned.

 

"Then you must have needed it,” Qui-Gon said, calm as ever like the rock in a stormy sea. Obi-Wan shook his head, gently. If he was always this poetic when he was well rested, it was no wonder he fought sleep so hard. "When was the last time you slept through the night?” Qui-Gon asked. 

 

 _I was three,_ Obi-Wan thought immediately, and it was true. Three was when Obi-Wan’s dreams started to turn, to grow dark and come to pass. Still, his mouth gave the answer he always did. "I meditate.”

 

Frowning, Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest, as if he was wearing his cloak. "Meditation is not sleep.“

 

"Pot, kettle.” Obi-Wan retorted, not in the mood for a lecture, even if it meant having Qui-Gon talk to him more. He began the search for his boots. As if Qui-Gon was one to talk. It was well known that Obi-Wan got most of his bad habits directly from Qui-Gon himself. "My duty shift begins in a few minutes. I'll send someone with food and tea. I’ll be back after my shift.”

 

Qui-Gon nodded, backing down and accepting. “I look forward to it.”

 

Dressed, Obi-Wan reached out, and was relieved when Qui-Gon went willingly, giving Obi-Wan a thorough kiss. It was only supposed to be a sweet farewell, but Obi-Wan found himself standing there, kissing Qui-Gon slowly, for a long time. Pleasure curled in his gut, warm and heavy, but never growing urgent--just enough to convince Obi-Wan that the best, the right thing to do right now was kiss his love. 

 

Finally, Qui-Gon pulled back, turning the kiss to several smaller pecks and then, at last, letting go. Obi-Wan felt hot, dazed, and rumpled. 

 

One last glance in the mirror, and Obi-Wan strode from Qui-Gon’s quarters with a dutiful stride. If you were where you weren't supposed to be, it was the best way to be left alone.

 

Except, of course, when Cody was waiting across the hall. 

 

He was leaning against the bulkhead, foot up at home in under his arm. His face was bland–too bland.

 

"Early morning meeting, sir?”

 

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't be cute, Cody.”

 

"But sir, I'm adorable,” Cody returned, pressing his finger into his cheek is a dimple. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and started away, Cody falling into step.

 

"You might as well say it.”

 

"I was gonna,” Cody said. "Nobody seen you since yesterday, but…” He stopped. 

 

"But what, Cody?”

 

"You look like you slept, sir.” Cody, mother hen that he was, took Obi-Wan sleeplessness as a personal affront. "If he were evil, you wouldn’t look so well rested."

 

Obi-Wan glared at Cody from the side of his eye, and Cody, damn the man, had the gall to look unaffected. He held out a datapad, and Obi-Wan took it, his mouth pursed. “Then I’m sure you’ll agree that this hovering is unnecessary,” Obi-Wan said. 

 

“Sir.” 

 

“And arrange for someone to bring him food,” Obi-Wan said, already queuing up the morning reports. “It should have been taken care of last night; we’ve been incredibly lax.” Cody nodded. “Oh,” Obi-Wan snapped his fingers, looking up. “And tea. I can’t believe I nearly forgot the tea.” 

 

Cody nodded again. “I’ll see to it, sir.” 

 

Obi-Wan nodded. “Very good, Cody. Dismissed.” Obi-Wan turned towards the bridge, already putting the morning, and this conversation out of his mind.

 

“Sir,” Cody said. “And, uh...General?” 

 

Obi-Wan stopped, turning to look back. “Yes, what is it Cody?” 

 

Cody gestured at his own neck. “You’ve got a little, uh...” 

 

Obi-Wan’s hand flew to his neck, even as he felt his skin burn with the strength of his flush--Jedi reserve be damned. His senses were filled for a strong moment with the sound of Qui-Gon’s breath in his ear, the scent of bacta and sweat, and he coughed. “Ah. Yes. Well. Thank you, Cody. Let us never speak of this again.” 

 

“Very good, sir,” Cody said. 

 

“Right,” Obi-Wan said, and after a moment, he was able to about face and walk quickly towards the bridge. 

 

Halfway there, he ducked into a ‘fresher to inspect the damage. The bright lights were harsh and unforgiving, even more so than the rest of the lighting on the ship, and they hid no flaws. Obi-Wan had grown used to seeing every speck and blemish, every wrinkle and fold, every bag and pallor that aged him far more than his years, despite having what he was told was a “baby face.” Yet, this time, before Obi-Wan could look at his neck, he was stopped short by his face in the mirror. 

 

Obi-Wan looked--he looked _younger_. The bags under his eyes were much lighter than their usual shade of darkness, and if Obi-Wan wasn’t mistaken, he had less lines on his forehead, though the lines at the corners of his eyes were still there. He looked at least five years younger, if not ten. “Oh,” Obi-Wan whispered as he sighed. “That’s just what I need.” It had been bad enough before--it was why he had finally relented in growing a beard in the first place, no matter how much Bant and Garen had teased him. 

 

The image of youth wasn’t really dispelled by the darkened bruise of the side of his neck, below his ear. “Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan muttered furiously. He didn’t even have the grace to place it low enough to be hidden by their tunics--it was right in the middle of his neck. He couldn’t hide this without paint thick enough to rival that with Senator Amidala had worn as Queen of Naboo. 

 

Obi-Wan released his breath through his teeth, letting his anger and frustration go with it. No point in holding on to it, especially since Obi-Wan could remember very clearly the feeling of Qui-Gon’s mouth on his neck, and his own enthusiastic encouragement. It left him with a feeling of bemusement, this visible reminder of Qui-Gon’s own brand of independent rebellion. Of course Qui-Gon would leave visible marks; Qui-Gon never had a problem with declaring all of himself out loud where anyone could hear. It was Obi-Wan who kept things close, kept things hidden--even those things he shared with the people around him. 

 

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan opened himself to the flow of the force, pressing his fingers to his neck and letting the flow of light encourage his cells to repair, the bleeding to slow and stop and recede, and when Obi-Wan pulled himself to the present once more, he felt the echo of Qui-Gon’s quiet amusement through their bond. 

 

 _Yes, very amusing,_ Obi-Wan groused without heat. He removed his hand, and the purple bruise was no more than a red spot, easily explained away as a scratched itch, or an awkward sleeping position. 

 

 _They would have to believe you sleep, first,_ Qui-Gon sent back, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes in the mirror where Qui-Gon couldn’t see--but certainly felt. Qui-Gon pulled back with a sense of smug victory that Obi-Wan would argue wasn’t deserved, but now was not the time or place for such an argument. With a final adjustment of his tunics, he left the ‘fresher. 

 

It wouldn’t do for someone to walk in to see their General arguing with the mirror, after all. 

 

***

 

Ahsoka turned the corner to see Fives and Echo standing in the hallway, arguing in low tones that were quickly becoming...not so low. Neither clone was wearing their helmet, and Echo’s unamused expression was clear to see--as was Fives’s stubborn glare. Echo was, strangely enough, carrying a tray of food and a box of tea like the kind Master Obi-Wan kept in his quarters. As Ahsoka came closer, Fives’s agitated gesturing came into focus. 

 

“I’m just saying, we’ve seen what they can do! I don’t--you should have backup!” 

 

Echo rolled his eyes, and caught sight of Ahsoka. He snapped to attention. “Commander!” Fives’s jump was not quite as snappy, but still sincere--and it didn’t hurt that he was broadcasting his worry loud and clear for those who could read it. 

 

“At ease, guys,” Ahsoka said, stopping and placing her hands on her hips. She jerked her chin towards the tray. “Is that for Master Jinn?” 

 

“Yes, Commander,” Echo said. 

 

Ahsoka nodded and her brow furrowed in thought. Echo and Fives were looking everywhere but directly at her, and Ahsoka squinted up at them. “How did this become your job?” 

 

Fives flashed a quick grin. “Cody mentioned it to Rex, and Rex volunteered us,” he said. 

 

“It wasn’t even our fault, this time,” Echo muttered, and Fives elbowed him in the side, not quite subtle enough to be missed. 

 

Ahsoka held up her hand. “I don’t want to know,” she said, then held her hand out to them. “Here, I’ll take it.” 

 

Echo and Fives exchanged a look. 

 

“Sir--”

 

“Commander--”

 

“Do I need to make it an order,” Ahsoka interrupted, gesturing with her hand once more. Echo looked at Fives again, still not sure about Ahsoka’s order, but he handed over the tray all the same. Ahsoka was sure she would have twinned shadows all the way to Master Jinn’s rooms. (Still, once the tray was in her hands, Ahsoka felt the Force swirl around her. Something was happening, changing, and not necessarily for the worst). 

 

“Thank you, Echo,” Ahsoka said, a trace absently, and turned to head towards Master Jinn’s door.

 

It was only a little way down the hall, and yet Ahsoka could almost feel herself being tugged closer, as if the Force was an eager Lothcat on a lead, until she had knocked on the door. It fell away then, to a pleased hum, and Ahsoka looked back over her shoulder. Sure enough, Fives and Echo were standing behind her. 

 

“Dismissed,” Ahsoka said, and they responded with a clear, “yes, sir,” in unison, though Ahsoka knew they’d find an excuse to watch the door until she returned. She would be frustrated with them--it was a clear questioning of the chain of command, but she knew that it was out of care for her (and, being that she had intervened, in part, to protect them, she knew she had little ground to stand on). But then, the door opened, and she walked through. 

 

Braced as she was, Ahsoka was almost disappointed when the room was empty. She could hear sounds of movement from the small bedroom, and the air was heavy with the scent of steam and the military-issued cleansers. Ahsoka’s nose twitched at the unmistakable scent of bacta that lingered underneath it all. Was Master Jinn hurt? She knew Master Obi-Wan had spent time here yesterday--was he the one injured? It would be just like him to try and hide it, too.

 

Ahsoka realized that she’d been standing there for a several moments without announcing her presence. She stood taller and cleared her throat. “Master Jinn?” She called out. “I’ve brought you breakfast.” She placed the tray on the table and looked around. Master Jinn had arrived with only the clothes on his back, so she wasn’t expecting to see much in the way of possessions, but the emptiness of the room seemed wrong--like the space Master Jinn inhabited should have the same fullness of life as his own person. 

 

There were a pile of datapads piled on the table, the only things not standard in the room, and Ahsoka picked one up. It was a news-reader, and a quick scroll through the menu showed that it was filled with the main news stories of the past several years. 

 

Something banged against the door to the bedroom, and Ahsoka quickly placed the pad on the table, tucking her hands behind her back just as the door opened. 

 

Just like last time, Ahsoka was taken aback by the sheer size of the man; he was easily as tall as her master, but he was broader in the shoulders, near barrel chested. And yet, he despite his size and the vastness of his presence in the Force, he wasn’t an imposing man--not like Dooku. 

 

He appeared doubly unassuming now, dressed in only his leggings and undertunic. His hair must have been wet, as he had it wrapped in a towel that was perched atop his head, and Ahsoka blinked at that. He looked a bit like Master Mundi, and Ahsoka had to bite her lip. 

 

“Ah,” Master Jinn stopped. “Padawan Tano. I hadn’t heard you come in.” 

 

“I brought you breakfast,” Ahsoka said, gesturing at the tray. Master Jinn looked at the table. 

 

“So you have,” he said. “And tea. May all the blessings of the little gods shine upon you,” he said, and moved, not to the table, but to the kitchenette to heat water. “Would you care to join me? Tea is always best when shared.” 

 

“You’re not like your statue,” Ahsoka said, blurted, really, and she grit her teeth for a moment as she sighed. She really couldn’t wait until she outgrew her tendency to say things without thinking (though, if her Master was any indication, she might never grow out of it). Master Jinn looked over his shoulder, his eyebrow cocked in amusement. 

 

“I have a statue?” he asked. 

 

Ahsoka nodded. “In the Memorial Hall,” she said. “It’s--very refined.” It was huge, displaying Master Jinn in the traditional ceremonial Master’s robes--heavy tabards, high collar, and cassock. His profile was the same, strong nose and jaw, but the statue stared at the horizon, as if seeing into the very heart of the Force itself. The Master Jinn in front of her was chuckling as he measured the leaves of the tea into the pot. 

 

“And I am not,” Master Jinn said, glancing up at the towel on his head. Ahsoka opened her mouth to protest, but he waved her off. “I’m sure it is very distinguished. I can sense Mace’s hand in that; he couldn't refine me in life, so he’d refine me in perpetuity.” He winked at Ahsoka, and she smiled back. He brought the tea and two cups to the table, and gestured for Ahsoka to sit across from him. Still standing, he poured the tea into the two cups. Gently, he picked up one cup, cradling it in his hands in the same way as she saw Master Obi-Wan, and handed her the cup. “Padawan Tano, I would like to invite you to call me Qui-Gon.” 

 

“Master Qui-Gon,” Ahsoka said, a gentle correction, as she took the cup. “I am Ahsoka.” 

 

Master Qui-Gon smiled, and began to eat. Ahsoka sipped her tea: it was perfect.


	5. BACTA 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the story continues! Thank you to everyone who helped make this happen!

When looked at logically, Obi-Wan had spent only a fifth of his life apprenticed to Qui-Gon, as he had lived with his Master’s presence at the other end of a training bond for only seven years. He’d spent twice that with their bond a frayed and exposed nerve, tucked carefully behind his shields in the hopes that no one would find it—that no one would notice that Obi-Wan hadn’t dissolved his end, as was natural when a padawan was knighted. He should be far more used to operating without Qui-Gon’s mind, so much like a rich, lush jungle that shone with the depth of its life, just out of his line of sight. 

It should be a distraction. 

And yet, Obi-Wan found himself more focused than he could remember in years. It wasn’t that he hadn’t able to focus before, or that his focus was somehow less than it was now, but that it came much more easily. With Qui-Gon standing anchor, Obi-Wan was able to throw himself into each task with the confidence that he wouldn’t somehow get lost or overwhelmed. 

When Obi-Wan came up for air, near the middle of his shift, he straightened from where he had been hunched over the main console display, subtly stretching the stiff muscles in his back and shoulders. He felt tired, yes, like he had been _working_ all morning, but he didn’t have that near-hysterical giddiness that came from too much caff and not enough sleep. Through it all, Qui-Gon was a warmth like dark earth on a late spring day. 

Anakin wandered onto the bridge just as Obi-Wan was unwrapping a meal bar. The dark green kelp was salty-sweet and toothsome like nerf-jerkey, and it was one of Obi-Wan’s favorites. Cody even kept a handful on his belt, because when the world went sideways, he could still get Obi-Wan to eat one. 

When Anakin looked surprised that Obi-Wan was eating, it made Obi-Wan pause. Had it really gotten that bad? Outgrowing puberty had meant that Obi-Wan no longer had the hormonal clues to remind him to eat, but he _did_ eat enough food. He had to—he wouldn’t be able to fight if he didn’t. Still, Anakin grinned after a moment, pleased, even if the grin faded to a more absent smile when he came close. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan greeted, in between bites. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “Have you seen Ahsoka recently? She was supposed to meet me in the hold for lightsaber practice, but she never showed and she isn’t answering her comm.” 

Obi-Wan frowned, suppressing the little flash of concern that flashed through him. “No, I haven’t,” he said. “But I’ve been here all shift, and she doesn’t usually come to the bridge without reason.” 

“Yeah,” Anakin said, frowning as he typed at the console, pulling up her location on the internal map.

“Do you sense something wrong?” Obi-Wan asked. 

After a moment, Anakin shook his head. “No, she’s fine. Happy, even, which, honestly, is more concerning. There’s no reason for her not to show unless—“ 

The thought occurred to them both at the same time that the display blinked, indicating her coordinates. “Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said aloud, sending back a small wave of frustration when Qui-Gon responded with a vague inquisitive. Anakin was already halfway across the bridge, his long legs carrying him quickly across the distance. “Cody, you have the bridge,” Obi-Wan called as he followed after his apprentice. 

Qui-Gon sent a _?_ once more, but Obi-Wan didn’t respond other than a dry, _incoming_. 

Obi-Wan caught up to Anakin in the hallway, walking quickly to match Anakin’s side, and they turned the corner together to see Fives and Echo still standing sentry outside of Qui-Gon’s rooms. They snapped to attention when they saw the Generals bearing down on them, but Anakin passed them with nothing more than a stern look and a pointed finger as he slammed the door controls open. 

“Dismissed,” Obi-Wan said as he followed Anakin into the room. He didn’t stay to see if they complied, and the door slid shut behind him as he stopped just short of running full-tilt into Anakin’s back. Obi-Wan scowled up at the back of Anakin’s head. The force certainly had a sense of humor, giving him first a giant of a master, and then a tower of an apprentice. 

Stepping around Anakin, Obi-Wan took in the scene that had stopped his apprentice in his tracks. 

Ahsoka and Qui-Gon sat at the table, barely breaking their concentration to look up at them as they faced off over a game of Sabacc. _Of course._ Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow. 

“You do know he’s cheating, don’t you, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asked, his smirk growing when Qui-Gon protested. Ahsoka just grinned, showing off sharp teeth. 

“Of course I know, Master Obi-Wan.” She said, never looking up from her cards. “He’s been getting more desperate with each hand.” 

“What?” Anakin said. Obi-Wan glanced at him. Anakin wore that look he got when the world did not quite match his expectations; it looked rather like he was hit in the back of the head by something firm that nevertheless exploded into something soft, or even squishy, upon impact. He blinked quite a lot. 

Qui-Gon scowled, but Obi-Wan could feel the pride and amusement clearly through their bond, though it was laced through with some actual frustration. “She’s won more than she’s lost, and I’m almost certain those losses were calculated to put me off my own game.” 

“I’m not telling,” Ahsoka said, flip, and called the hand. Sure enough, her hand beat his, and Qui-Gon let his head fall back, groaning theatrically at yet another loss. 

Anakin held up a hand. “Who taught you to play Sabacc?” 

“I did,” Obi-Wan said. He stepped around Anakin and approached the table. “Do you have room for another?” 

“You never taught me to play Sabacc,” Anakin said. 

“You already knew how,” Obi-Wan said. “And you’re a terrible cheat.” He looked at Qui-Gon and shook his head mournfully. “No Sabacc face.” 

Anakin scowled, but pulled up his own chair to the table. “Alright, Snips. Deal us in. Looks like I have a record to set straight.” He pointed his finger at Qui-Gon, his expression still dark. “I still don’t trust you.” 

Qui-Gon’s expression was far too innocent. “Of course not,” he murmured. 

Anakin pointed next at Ahsoka. “And you, padawan mine,” he said. “Prepare to lose.” 

Obi-Wan looked over at Ahsoka, winking as he swept the cards from the table and shuffled, dealing the new hand with sure and fast flicks of his wrist. Ashoka grinned back at him, flashing her incisors at him. “Of course, master,” she said. “I couldn't imagine winning against you.” 

Anakin's eyes narrowed at her even as Qui-Gon began to chuckle. Obi-Wan hid his grin behind his cards, but he could feel Anakin’s consternation through their bond. Regardless of who won the hand, Anakin would not be able to trust the outcome was honest and that Ahsoka didn’t throw the hand on purpose. It was a brilliant moment of misdirection, and Obi-Wan felt a pang of loss for his days as a simple negotiator. As much as he loathed state dinners and political functions during a war, when his presence was sorely needed elsewhere, he did miss the days when such functions were the biggest problem in his life. 

“What are we playing for?” Anakin asked. Usually, when Obi-Wan played Qui-Gon as a padawan, it was for simple tasks—an hour’s uninterrupted meditation or meal clean-up for a week. The Order’s emphasis on a lack of personal possessions meant that neither of them had many spare credits to bet with, but it also meant that Obi-Wan never lost his shirt, either. (Though, on one memorable occasion, he had literally lost his shirt in a game of strip-Sabacc against Quinlan Vos—and had to wear his tunics extra high for a week as a result of that little escapade). 

“We had been playing for points,” Qui-Gon said. “As it was a friendly game, and I have nothing else to bet.” 

_Oh, I could think of a few things,_ Obi-Wan thought. Qui-Gon’s mental presence chuckled, low, and Obi-Wan repressed a shiver. 

_Oh, of that I have no doubt._

His backside throbbed with a phantom ache—the batca had healed him thoroughly, and Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t even bruised. Still, he shifted slightly in his seat, clenching down as a solid nothing that felt an awfully lot like Qui-Gon’s finger teased at his entrance. 

_Cheat,_ Obi-Wan sent, and sent a tendril of his own though the Force to curl around Qui-Gon’s cock. Qui-Gon breathed sharply through his nose as he hardened in Obi-Wan’s grip. 

“Points it is, then,” Anakin said, and it took Obi-Wan a moment to remember what Anakin was referring to. “Ante up.” 

Obi-Wan felt those lovely fingers fade as Qui-Gon’s attention returned to the game at hand, and let his own grip dissolve with a hint of regret. 

Obi-Wan was right about one thing, however. Anakin had a truly terrible Sabacc face. At one point, it had bothered Obi-Wan that Anakin wore his emotions so openly, but time had shifted his opinion. Not everyone was cut out for negotiations and diplomacy, and it seemed that his rather gifted charge was simply gifted in other areas. Anakin was unparalleled when it came to technology, and his use of his saber was nearly on par with Obi-Wan’s own. His strength in the Force was hard to believe. 

Perhaps that was the trade-off, then. Strength for subtlety. 

Anakin had spoken once as a padawan, before the war and everything with it, of a desire to be a full-time pilot. They had been on their way to settle a minor dispute on Chandrilla—their presence was supposed to be a mere formality to make the settlement official enough that it might stick this time. (It wasn’t, and it didn’t, but that was nothing new, after all. Anakin had been successful in protecting the ambassadors of both parties while Obi-Wan had hunted down and captured the would-be assassin. They worked well as a team). Obi-Wan had said they’d discuss it further when back on Coruscant, but after Chandrialla is had been Sullust, then Rodia, and then back to Sullust again. It was almost six months before they returned to the Temple, and it had been the last time Anakin had mentioned it. 

The betting returned to Obi-Wan, and he matched and raised three points. He had most of a full Sabacc, and was confident that he'd be able to bluff his way through, at least. 

Looking up at Anakin now, Obi-Wan wondered abruptly what Anakin planned to do after the war. Would he, like Obi-Wan, return to life of diplomacy and negotiation? Obi-Wan had a hard time believing that. Perhaps Anakin would join the pilots, as he had wanted. They did love him in the hangar, and Anakin always looked happy when he was elbow-deep in ship-parts. 

Or maybe Anakin would become one of the Searchers. With his connection to the Force, both Living and Unified, Anakin could easily become a one-Jedi recruitment drive. Force knows their numbers would be even smaller by the time this war dragged to its bloody conclusion—if there was anything left of them at all. 

Obi-Wan shivered, the thought ringing all too true in his mind, and ignored the concerned look that Anakin and Qui-Gon both sent him. Now was not the time for such thoughts. 

When the betting returned to him for a third time, the cards in his hands shifted—a Sabacc Shift—forcing his mind to his present. Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon’s concern; it wasn't like Obi-Wan to get distracted so easily, but he sent a wave of reassurance over their bond. Moments like that had become more and more common as the war continued, and Obi-Wan knew them to be a side-effect of—well, of stress, he supposed. The stress of war, the stress of travel, the stress of being a councilor. If his mind wandering when there was no immediate threat on their lives kept his mind from wandering when they could scarcely afford it, well—Obi-Wan was content to let his thoughts take him where they would. 

He looked around the table: Qui-Gon and Anakin both had their cards in hand, Qui-Gon’s expression mild and his presence in the Force casually blank. If they weren’t playing the game, even Obi-Wan would have a hard time knowing that Qui-Gon was shielding. Anakin, on the other hand, struggled to keep his face even, but his eyebrows settled at least a centimeter higher than their usual resting place. He had a good hand, then--a very good hand. Ahsoka, on the other hand, had a card in the Interference Field—the Endurance card, worth eight. 

Studying his new cards, Obi-Wan made a decision. 

“I call,” Obi-Wan said, knowing that any further delays would risk another shift. He pressed the stall button, signaling the end of play, and one by one they revealed their cards. 

As he was sitting left of the dealer, Qui-Gon revealed his hand first. It was a run of Staves, which was hard enough to do, with a total of seventeen. A hard hand to beat, and Qui-Gon certainly looked serene. 

Anakin, however, looked smug, revealing his hands next. Negative twenty-three: Pure Sabacc. He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head and stretching back. If not for his Jedi tunics, Obi-Wan could see him as any spacer in a seedy bar, about to get shot for gloating over his wins. “Read ‘em and weep,” he said, and Obi-Wan bit his lip against the urge to smile, rolling his eyes when Qui-Gon looked his way. “Beat that, Snips.” 

“As you say, Skyguy,” Ahsoka said, and lay out her hand, spreading her cards on either side of her fielded card. They were a mix of low cards, and after a moment of counting, Obi-Wan began to grin. Positive Twenty three. Pure Sabacc—and a Positive beat a negative Sabacc every time. 

Obi-Wan’s own cards didn't matter, and he placed them face down on the table as Anakin sputtered. Qui-Gon raised a hand to cover the smile growing on his mouth even as Ahsoka beamed brightly. 

“I do believe that makes me a winner,” Ahsoka said. “Which means the pots are both mine.” 

Anakin looked up at them, at Qui-Gon whose mirth was hidden and yet obvious, and Obi-Wan, who was all but openly laughing at him, and pointed at Obi-Wan. 

“You haven't shown your hand!" he demanded. “I don’t care if I lose, just please tell me you beat my Padawan!” 

“Hey!” Ahsoka protested, mildly offended, and Anakin turned back to her. 

“It’s character building, Snips,” he said. “It’s no good if you win all the time.” 

“I don’t win all the time,” Ahsoka said. “I just won that time, and you're a sore loser!” 

“Am not!” 

“Are too!” 

Obi-Wan ducked his head to muffle his laughter against the backs of his fingers and felt a ghostly hand run through his hair. Still a bit giddy, Obi-Wan slipped down through their bond, slipping a tendril of force gently against the pleasure-center of Qui-Gon's mind, filling him with an all-over, if diffuse, wave of pleasure. Qui-Gon’s breath caught, and Obi-Wan saw pink spread across Qui-Gon’s cheeks and though his ears, and Obi-Wan was content. 

That was, until the Force fingers in his hair were replaced suddenly buy the feeling of a hot mouth around his sac, sudden and hot, and Obi-Wan jerked badly enough to knock his knee against the table. 

Everyone turned to him.

Unable to do anything about his own flush, Obi-Wan stared serenely back. He coughed discreetly into his fist, and then held up the rest of the unplayed deck.

“Best two of three?” 

They played best of three, and then best of five when, naturally, Ahsoka won the third game. The second went to Anakin, who lucked into Pure Sabacc during a Sabacc Shift. The last two went to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan respectively, and their play was ended by a com call from Rex, requesting a meeting with Anakin. Anakin, who had taken his win of the second game as a sign that he wasn't a terrible Sabacc player, was reluctant to leave, chasing down his next victory. 

Perhaps it was better that Anakin had a terrible Sabacc face; he would be eaten alive in a casino, and would most likely be dead in any cantina game Obi-Wan had ever been a part of. 

On the other hand, Anakin seemed to have finally come around on Qui-Gon. At the end of the third game, Qui-Gon had reached out to console Anakin by gripping his shoulder (Anakin’s total had been an astounding sixty-eight), and Anakin had leaned into the touch much like he would had it been Obi-Wan. It was good to see, and it soothed some of the jangling nerves in Obi-Wan's mind that he wouldn't have to fight Anakin on this subject for much longer, if at all. 

Anakin stood, gamely holding out his hand for Qui-Gon to shake, gripping his forearm in a Spacer custom that Anakin had picked up on Tatooine as a boy and had never thought to lose. (Though, to be fair, Obi-Wan had never pushed for Anakin to lose any of his own customs—he simply wished Anakin to learn the customs of the Jedi as well. Anakin’s early life out in the Rim had helped him on many of their missions where their success depended on one of Obi-Wan's, or Qui-Gon's, less than reputable, contacts). Qui-Gon gripped back, the move easy and second-nature in a way that, now that Obi-Wan was older, he realized more than likely the result of an early padawan rebellion against Dooku. 

“My door is always open to you, if you wish to play again,” Qui-Gon offered.

“I’m going to have to,” Anakin said. “You have all my points.” He dropped the grip and turned to Ahsoka. “Come on, Snips. I have a feeling I know what this is about, and I want you in on this. It'll be good practice.” 

“Yes, Master,” Ahsoka said, her tone slipping back to the more formal address of the Temple now that Anakin had a lesson for her. She turned to Qui-Gon and bowed low. “Thank you for the game, Master Qui-Gon.” 

“Anytime, young one,” Qui-Gon said, returning the bow with a deep incline of his head. “I find I much enjoy the company of my Great-Grandpadawan, and you are welcome to return as well--and not just for Sabacc.” 

Ahsoka grinned, and followed Anakin out of the room with a wave and a “Bye Master Obi-Wan!” over hers shoulder. 

Obi-Wan busied his hands with putting the Sabacc cards away as Qui-Gon cleared away the remains of the tea he had shared with Ahsoka. 

“He hates that, did you notice?” Qui-Gon said, suddenly. 

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan hummed. “Who?” 

“Ani—or, I should say Anakin. When Ahsoka called him ‘Master,’ he flinched. It was slight, but it was there.” 

Anakin had always twitched at the word, and Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course he does, from Tatooine as he is. That's why she calls him ‘Skyguy’ more often than not. She doesn't always remember, however. Years of temple life make that a hard habit to break.” When Anakin was a young padawan, Obi-Wan had often wondered why his padawan was growing more surly and sour after his daily lessons. He put two and two together when he overheard Anakin speaking to Master Tiin and realized the root of the underlying hostility in Anakin's voice. After that, Obi-Wan had insisted that Anakin only had to call him “Master” if they were called before the Council, and that Obi-Wan would be honored if Anakin would call him by name. 

Over time, the word lost a bit of its sting, and he began to call Obi-Wan “master” when he was feeling settled and calm. It made sense, however, that Ahsoka’s use would be off-putting; Anakin calling another Master was bad enough, but having Anakin become that master…

Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wished that Ahsoka had been sent to them for Obi-Wan in truth. Perhaps, when the war was over, it would be time for Obi-Wan to take a new padawan. 

Obi-Wan placed the cards on the side table and stood for a moment, resting his hand on top of the deck as he thought. His shift was not technically over, and he really should return to the bridge, or at least go to his office to do some paperwork. Force knew there was never an end to the paperwork. Still, Obi-Wan found himself reluctant to leave. Cody had his com, after all. They had what amounted to downtime at the moment. Surely, he could rest for a while longer? 

Qui-Gon stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and pulling Obi-Wan back to lean against his chest. 

“Your thoughts are traveling at lightspeed,” Qui-Gon murmured to the top of Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan relaxed into Qui-Gon’s hold, relishing in the warmth that came from contact. Obi-Wan had been in space enough over the last few years that he had gotten mostly accustomed to the chill. Still, he would never be fond of it. “What has you worried now?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “I’m the War Councilor, Qui-Gon. High General of the GAR. What doesn’t have me worried?” He closed his eyes. “This is nice, though.” 

Qui-Gon squeezed, hugging tightly, and Obi-Wan had a moment when his emotions surged, bringing his composure to a place of crystal fragility, before the hug eased and Obi-Wan could breathe away the tangle of his emotions. 

They stood for a while, just enjoying the touch of the other, before Qui-Gon asked: “What _was_ your first hand? You never did show it.” 

Obi-Wan’s grin stole slowly across his face as he opened up to Qui-Gon a piece of his memory, showing the hand: A two of Staves, a three of Coins, and the Idiot, smiling at them. 

“An Idiot’s array,” Qui-Gon breathed. “You had the winning hand!” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, “but it was so much better to watch Anakin’s reaction to Ahsoka, don’t you think?”

Qui-Gon ducked his head to press his forehead against Obi-Wan’s shoulder and laughed.


	6. Pineapple Express

Anakin, once he gave his trust, gave it fully with a near blind loyalty. He was devoted to those he considered his friends and loved ones, and to break that trust was to break something vital in Anakin. He knew that about himself, at least, and Obi-Wan knew Anakin did not give his trust easily. 

All of which was why Obi-Wan was so surprised when Anakin’s attitude towards Qui-Gon changed completely in the wake of their impromptu Sabacc tournament. Whatever Anakin had seen was enough to convince him of what Obi-Wan knew--that this was, in fact, Qui-Gon Jinn, returned from the Force. 

Obi-Wan was happy, truly, that he was no longer being pulled in two directions, but--

He had forgotten just how much Anakin had admired Qui-Gon. For the past four days, whenever Obi-Wan went to Qui-Gon’s quarters, he found Anakin already there. Obi-Wan was always welcomed, and Qui-Gon made sure to not give his attention to Anakin over Obi-Wan (honestly, it helped that Anakin had no sexual or romantic interest in Qui-Gon; Obi-Wan was done competing with Anakin). By the third day, Obi-Wan was feeling rather desperate for some private time with Qui-Gon _in person_ \--Force-sex could only take one so far--and Qui-Gon was beginning to look a bit wild around the eyes. 

Wild enough that Anakin noticed; what followed began as his idea. 

“Obi-Wan, I think Qui-Gon is getting a little stir-crazy,” Anakin said the morning of the fifth day, sitting himself down across from Obi-Wan in the Officers’ Mess. Anakin’s tray, as always, was filled with food, one of everything offered, and the largest black caff they had. It was a startling contrast to Obi-Wan’s milky sweet tea - a compromise with the healers for Obi-Wan’s weight. “He’s starting to look a little rough around the edges.” 

“Oh?” Obi-Wan offered, keeping his expression distant. _I know how he feels,_ Obi-Wan thought. 

“Yeah,” Anakin said around a mouthful of eggs. Obi-Wan watched in a mute sort of horror; Anakin did not like eggs. Obi-Wan had heard at length about how Anakin did not like eggs--and yet Anakin always ate his eggs, shoveling them down with an obscene amount of hot sauce. To be fair, the hot sauce wasn’t surprising, as Tatooine cuisine was heavily spiced, but Obi-Wan was pretty sure the hot sauce he was using was one Fives was brewing on the sly. It was notoriously difficult to control the heat on bootlegged hot-sauce, and Obi-Wan had overheard Cody mutter that Fives’s hot sauce could melt through plastisteel. Still, Anakin quickly made them disappear before he spoke again. “I was thinking that being confined to quarters might be overkill. He is _Qui-Gon,_ right? Maybe we can bring him to the training room for a while. The Council should be fine with it as long as we’re with him, yeah?” 

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, blinking rapidly as he thought. Qui-Gon was an active man, and always had been. Part of the reason Obi-Wan had such a well-traveled apprenticeship was because Qui-Gon, for all he hated spaceflight, was prone to itchy feet if stayed in one place for too long. His tolerance for the Temple was about three weeks. (Besides, if Anakin didn’t leave them alone any time soon, Qui-Gon would need to work off some of that pent up energy. To be honest, so would Obi-Wan. “That’s a wonderful Idea, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “As the resident council member, I approve.” He grinned, and Anakin seemed startled, but grinned back, brilliant. 

“Wizard!” 

Stuck as they were in hyperspace, duty rotations tended to ease. Shifts grew shorter. Regs relaxed. The officers found themselves with enforced downtime. Usually, Obi-Wan used at least part of this time to catch up on paperwork, one of the true constants of military bureaucracy, and on sleep. 

He also used this time to practice or to chase Anakin and Ahsoka around the training room. It was as close to play as Obi-Wan would let himself get; he never was good at letting go when there were people counting on him. (Qui-Gon was always good at making him relax). Ahsoka and Anakin enjoyed it as well, he knew; apparently Qui-Gon’s life was filled with active, restless people. 

Qui-Gon, of course, loved the idea, not at all daunted by the fact that his lightsaber did not travel through death with him. He was so excited, in fact, that he thanked Obi-Wan with a kiss that seared him to the quick before they had to break apart, hearing Anakin coming closer to walk with them. It left Obi-Wan buzzing in a way that even his usual blade meditation wasn’t able to ease. 

To make matters worse, it was completely unfair that Qui-Gon chose to practice his katas shirtless. It wasn’t his usual preference—like most Jedi, Qui-Gon was of the opinion that it was best to train as one was most likely to be found—but neither was his shirtlessness unheard of. 

And it turned Obi-Wan into a blithering idiot every time. 

It wasn’t just that Qui-Gon was…immense. Physically imposing. Or that his body still bore the tighter fitness of a younger man, despite the way grey had come to dominate his otherwise dark chest hair (and the man had _hair._ Obi-Wan’s fingers itched to run through it again). It wasn’t even the way his skin would flush or glisten with sweat in…inspiring ways. 

It was that the bloody bastard _knew_ what it did to Obi-Wan, and he would look at him and _smoulder,_ the prat. Obi-Wan crossed and uncrossed his arms, turning to see Anakin regarding him instead of watching Ahsoka practice her own katas, with Anakin’s eyebrows creeping up in amused surprise. Oh, damn—Anakin always was more astute than the average Jedi when it came to these matters. 

Should he deny it? Did he even want to? If any Jedi were to understand, it would be Anakin. Obi-Wan sighed. When sensing a trap, one sprung the trap. “Yes, Anakin?”

“You…” The tone was positively gleeful, “have a _crush_ on Qui-Gon.” Anakin shook his head, mock sad. “Why didn’t I see it before?” 

“I do not have a crush,” Obi-Wan corrected. Anakin sent him a flat look, one that said _Just who do you think you’re fooling? I had you pegged about Satine._ “I don’t.” When in the trap, reverse it. “It hasn’t been a crush for years. I fell quite heartily in love with him when I was sixteen, and never quite managed to fall back out again.” 

“I—You—“ Anakin stuttered to a stop, flummoxed. “What?” 

“I love him,” Obi-Wan repeated. It felt better every time he said it, little jolts of lightning running down his spine and giddy joy bubbling up through him. 

Anakin’s expression drew queer--like he was trying to blank but couldn’t manage it. “You should tell him” he said, his voice distant and falsely casual. “Don’t waste that second chance.” 

Obi-Wan blinked at him, rearing back a little in surprise. He recognized well enough when Anakin shut down, unable to process just how much he was feeling, and he hadn’t expected it _now _. Had he really misjudged things so badly? _Talk to him,_ he heard/remembered Qui-Gon saying, and when he set his shoulders, mind made up, the Force seemed to hum gently around him. __

__“I won’t,” Obi-Wan said, softly, heart sinking when Anakin would not look at him. “I haven’t. He knows.” He smiled, a bit rueful. “It’s why he came back, I think.”_ _

__“That’s great!” Anakin said, false-bright, and Obi-Wan had to fight a wince._ _

__“Anakin,” Obi-Wan began, placing a hand on Anakin’s arm, just above the seam where his prosthetic began. Anakin froze, still not looking at him as his body trembled, and Obi-Wan cursed his blindness. “You do know I care for you, too, don’t you?” he asked, suddenly sure that Qui-Gon had been right, that Anakin _didn’t_ know. _ _

__And if that was the case… _Oh, what a mess!__ _

__Anakin remained frozen for a moment longer, but didn’t quite have his features schooled when he finally did look at Obi-Wan. _”Oh, Ani.__ _

__“Careful Master,” Anakin said, his voice wooden. “That sounds a lot like attachment.”_ _

__Obi-Wan’s stomach dropped even as his temper sparked, but he forced himself to not react. Anakin always did know how to push his buttons—how to push him away so that Anakin could avoid… _damn.__ _

__“So it is. It always was my biggest failing,” Obi-Wan said, dry. “Still is.”_ _

__Anakin wasn’t expecting Obi-Wan to admit to that, and the surprise was enough to soften the hard edge of his spine, to let Obi-Wan turn him back so they were face to face, to grip him gently by his shoulders._ _

__“Anakin,” Obi-Wan began. “Do you remember when Qui-Gon…died?”_ _

__Anakin began to nod, but stopped. “Not really,” he said. “I mean, I remember bits and pieces--mostly of flying, but…I don’t remember a lot from then.”_ _

__Obi-Wan nodded; it was as he suspected. “Neither do I,” he said, and Anakin’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s a side-effect, Anakin. Of emotional upheaval, which you certainly experienced, and trauma.” Obi-Wan’s lips twisted, wryly. “The mind-healers would tell you I suffered from both.”_ _

__“You saw mind-healers?” Anakin asked, blinking._ _

__“Mandatory, when a bonded pair is broken by death,” Obi-Wan said, waving his hand. “I went while you were attending lessons. I didn’t want—“ he sighed. It was hard enough to think about, but to put it into words?_ _

__“Qui-Gon’s death broke me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, slowly, his voice lowered. “I loved him, and he died, and I _shattered_.” He waited for Anakin to meet his eyes, and held them. “I never knew a more convincing argument against attachment. And then there you were, a little boy raised outside the creche, and you made attachments as easily as breathing—and I did everything I could squash them, because I would do _anything_ to prevent you from ever feeling that pain.” He sighed. “I think now that I handled that all wrong.” _ _

__Anakin breathed for a moment. “But you still love him.”_ _

__“I do,” Obi-Wan said, forcing himself to meet and keep Anakin’s eyes. “Because attachment has _always_ been my weakness, Anakin, and I am _afraid_ —. But this war—there is too much pain to live in fear of something that could be so wonderful. You tried to teach me that, and I didn’t listen, and _I am sorry._ ” He took a shuddering breath. “I do love Qui-Gon, and I love _you,_ Anakin. My brother.” _ _

__Anakin’s breath shook. “Obi-Wan,” he said, his voice, cracking, and Obi-Wan pulled him into a tight hug, tucking Anakin’s head against his shoulder. They couldn’t stay like that for long, Anakin was too blasted tall, but if Obi-Wan had learned anything from Qui-Gon it was that tall men liked to be held, too._ _

__“You’re wrong, though,” Anakin said, his voice so small against Obi-Wan’s tunics. “Attachment isn’t a weakness. The code is wrong.”_ _

__“I know, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, quietly. Across the room, he met Qui-Gon’s dark eyes. “I know.”_ _

__Anakin pulled away slowly, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Obi-Wan, a slow smile starting to creep across his face. Obi-Wan squeezed Anakin’s shoulder once more, his own grin growing until Anakin began to snicker--and then they were both howling with relieved laughter, braced against each other as the world around them went fuzzy and warm._ _

__“Well, finally!”_ _

__Obi-Wan and Anakin turned to see Ahsoka staring at them, her sabers back on her belt and her arms on her hips. Behind her, Qui-Gon didn’t try to hide his smile as he wiped himself down with a towel._ _

__Anakin crossed his arms and faced down his padawan--Ahsoka was growing quickly, and her montrals were already of a height with Anakin’s nose; he wouldn’t be able to loom quite so effectively soon, something of which Obi-Wan was sure Anakin and Ahsoka were both well aware._ _

__“Just what is that supposed to mean?” Anakin demanded._ _

__Ahsoka rolled her eyes, and Obi-Wan ran his hand over his beard to hide his smile. He could practically _hear_ Anakin at sixteen, with the exact same expression on his face. From the look on Qui-Gon’s face, he was picturing Obi-Wan looking much the same. _ _

__Well that just wouldn’t do; he didn’t want Qui-Gon to dwell on how young Obi-Wan was when they met. Qui-Gon’s death had closed the age gap between them considerably, and distance had allowed him a maturity that he well valued._ _

__He was an adult, damn it. A Master and Council Member. It was past time that he acted like it._ _

__Obi-Wan crossed his arms as if he was wearing his cloak, his hands sliding along to his elbows. “Are you feeling better, Qui-Gon?”_ _

__“Much,” Qui-Gon said, stepping closer and away from Anakin and Ahsoka’s light bickering. “I am not used to being so idle.”_ _

__Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow. “Well, it has been over a decade since you’ve practiced,” he said, and Qui-Gon snorted, looking at him intently._ _

__“I can’t see it through your beard, you know, but I know that dimple in your cheek, Obi-Wan. What are you planning?”_ _

__Obi-Wan spread his hands. “What makes you think I’m planning anything?” he asked. “I simply wished to to invite you to spar with me. It’s been a long time since we fought together, and I’ve missed it.”_ _

__Qui-Gon’s eyes lit up. “It would have to be hand-to-hand,” he said, as if that was a warning, and Obi-Wan was about to agree when Anakin stepped up._ _

__“Here,” Anakin said, and held out his lightsaber to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both looked at him in surprise. “What?” he asked. “We don’t have the stuff for you to make a new one right now, and I gotta see this.” He shook the handle. “We’re almost the same height, so the length should be good for you.”_ _

__Qui-Gon met Anakin’s eyes as he accepted the proffered ‘saber. “Thank you, Anakin. I will be careful with it.”_ _

__“I know,” Anakin said, and stepped back to watch with Ahsoka as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon took their place on the mats. They were not the only spectators; the training rooms were open to all, and while the Jedi tended to use the largest for their sparring, they were hardly the only ones to utilize the space. In fact, Obi-Wan was sure there were clones who timed their training to match, and he couldn’t blame them. He had often liked to watch others spar while in the Temple, and he knew he and Anakin were quite the spectacle when they fought. Therefore, Obi-Wan was not surprised to see many of the clones turn to watch when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon saluted each other to begin the duel. Obi-Wan settled back into the opening stance of Form IV, watching as Qui-Gon did the same, and the room went quiet._ _

__The troopers, trained as they were from birth, were quick to pick up various fighting styles. While use of the force was traditionally necessary for Jedi forms, that did not mean the moves could not be recognized and analyzed. They knew something was different, and the air was thick with anticipation._ _

__Qui-Gon was clearly picking up on the anticipation, his own excitement glinting in his eyes as the tension around them grew._ _

__With a sharp cry, Qui-Gon launched himself at Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan was no longer there, spinning high above and coming down behind Qui-Gon--who met him with a clash of sabers that sent them spinning off once more._ _

__Form IV, Ataru, was an aggressive form, named for the Hawk-Bat’s ferocity and grace, and was best suited to smaller fighters due to its reliance on speed and acrobatics. When an Ataru master fought, they were a blur of motion, their sabers arcing in brilliant arcs. It was a deadly and beautiful form, and as a younger man, Obi-Wan had been attracted to the dance of it, to the freedom it granted him, and as a result he had spent much of his time in the air._ _

__But Qui-Gon was not a small man, and the amount of effort he had to put into each move was immense--but it also meant that he fought like a demon, a force of nature both immensely strong and blindingly fast, and where Obi-Wan leapt, Qui-Gon leapt after him._ _

__Clearly, his time on the other side hadn’t dulled his skill. If anything, it had refreshed his body as Qui-Gon fought with more energy and vigor that he had in their last year together._ _

__It was exhilarating, and as Obi-Wan cartwheeled overhead, delighted laughter bubbled out of him. He landed with a wild grin, tossing his head to flip his hair off his forehead, and slid into the form that had since become his standard: Form III, Soresu. Qui-Gon looked mildly surprised, but when Obi-Wan waved him in with his extended hand, Qui-Gon merely grinned and charged--_ _

__And was blocked at every turn. Soresu was the resilience form, after all, and Obi-Wan was nothing if not resilient. Life, the Force, had thrown trial after trial at him, and he had emerged stronger and wiser each time; he survived, he grew and learned, and _outlasted_ \--_ _

__Until, at last, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon found themselves locked blade to blade, pressed front to front. Though Qui-Gon had the advantage of his height, Obi-Wan was grounded and rooted like the great trees of Yavin 4, and there was no moving him. Qui-Gon’s eyes _burned_ and Obi-Wan felt electrified where they touched--around them the room was silent and full of promise. _ _

__Then Qui-Gon stepped back, deactivating Anakin’s saber. “Solah,” he said, breathing heavily at last, and bowing to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan deactivated his own saber, and bowed back, accepting the victory._ _

__His ears were filled with a roaring--the clones, cheering and stomping for his victory, and Obi-Wan felt himself flush faintly as he waved to them, leaving the mat to join the others. He had grown out of his need to show off, to prove himself, and the attention made him slightly uncomfortable now, but it felt _good_ all the same. _ _

__“That was amazing!” Ahsoka gushed, and Qui-Gon chuckled in that deep way of his._ _

__“It was. Your grandmaster is the best swordsman in the Order,” he said._ _

__Obi-Wan sighed. “You can’t possibly know that,” Obi-Wan protested, but Anakin shook his head._ _

__“Yeah, but he’s right, though. Even Mace loses more than he wins against you now, and you’re using _Soresu_.” Obi-Wan waved it off, but he tucked away the feeling of Qui-Gon’s open praise all the same. _ _

__“You used Soresu against the Vaapad?” Qui-Gon asked, and Obi-Wan shrugged at him. It was his form; what else would he use?_ _

__Anakin looked between the two of them. “Why don’t you to talk about it while you get cleaned up? I’m going to chase Ahsoka around for a while; she could use the practice.”_ _

__“Hey!” Ahsoka protested, but Obi-Wan noticed that she was still eager as she jogged towards the mats._ _

__Then Obi-Wan realized: Anakin knew about them and was keeping Ahsoka busy. He would have Qui-Gon all to himself for the next few tens. He looked at Qui-Gon and saw the anticipation already shining in his eyes._ _

__“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”_ _

__***_ _

__As what was technically a visiting dignitary, Qui-Gon had a larger bed, but Obi-Wan’s quarters were far closer, and with his hard cock rubbing distractingly at the inside of his trousers, Obi-Wan thought speed certainly took priority. After a quick glance at Qui-Gon’s flushed face and deep swagger, Obi-Wan thought he’d agree._ _

__The bed was small, but Obi-Wan had other surfaces. He was sure they would make do._ _

__For example, there was no bed needed when Qui-Gon pushed him back against the door, dropping to his knees and working desperately at his belts. Obi-Wan curled his hands in Qui-Gon’s hair, pulling it taut as Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan’s cock free and swallowed him down. Obi-Wan choked on a shout as he tried to gasp-- _fuck_ it was good, so good. _ _

__Obi-Wan had been celibate for years, and then three days without Qui-Gon’s touch had him crawling the walls. Still flying the high from their sparring, Obi-Wan raced towards completion, and before he could so much as gasp out a warning, he was coming--_ _

__Caught by surprise, Qui-Gon pulled back, and Obi-Wan’s come painted his cheek and mouth, dripping from his chin. Obi-Wan could only stare, panting open mouthed as Qui-Gon’s startled eyes twinkled with amusement. He reached up and wiped at his chin with loose fingers, looking at the come smeared on his hand._ _

__“Miss me, love?” Qui-Gon asked, his accent thickening his voice, and Obi-Wan breathed out harshly._ _

___”Fuck,”_ he managed, and Qui-Gon grinned wickedly. _ _

__“If you insist,” he teased, and slipped a finger into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked it clean._ _

__Obi-Wan _growled_. “Fuck _you_ ,” he managed, and Qui-Gon froze, the teasing glint darkening even as his jaw slackened--just for a moment, but it was enough. _ _

__“You forfeited the match,” Obi-Wan rumbled. “Victory is mine.”_ _

__Qui-Gon’s mouth moved before he could speak. “Then come and take your winnings.”_ _

__Obi-Wan nodded, pushing away from the door and making Qui-Gon scramble back, still on his knees. “Oh, I intend to.”_ _

__Qui-Gon shivered._ _

__“Look at you,” Obi-Wan said, running his hands through Qui-Gon’s hair as Qui-Gon’s eyes fluttered shut. “It’s only been three days, and you’re this desperate for it?”_ _

__Qui-Gon glared at him through narrowed eyes. “I’m not the one who came with barely--.”_ _

__Obi-Wan’s fingers twisted, tugging on Qui-Gon’s hair, and he cried out softly. “I never said I wasn’t, but we’re not talking about me.” Obi-Wan’s tabards had fallen over his own cock. He placed a hand over the fabric, pressing down until he hissed. He wasn’t aching as he had before, but he wasn’t soft either, and wouldn’t be any time soon._ _

__Qui-Gon’s eyes fell to his hand, and Obi-Wan pulled his hand up, dragging the cloth with it until he was exposed once more. “You want this, don’t you?” he asked, shaking Qui-Gon gently when Qui-Gon licked his lips. “Say it,” he sang._ _

__“Yes,” Qui-Gon said._ _

__Obi-Wan shook him again. “Not like that,” he said, and felt Qui-Gon tremble._ _

__“I want your cock,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan felt it shiver through him._ _

__“And I’m going to give it to you,” Obi-Wan said. “But you have to ask.”_ _

__Qui-Gon grinned, showing his teeth, and Obi-Wan grinned back, touching his tongue to his lip as he waited. His hand let go of his tunic, wrapping around his own cock and stroking it loosely. Qui-Gon’s eyes followed, as if mesmerized, and he managed at last: _”Please,_ I want you inside me. _Fuck me, Obi-Wan._ ” _ _

__Obi-Wan shuddered. “Yes,” he hissed, and with help from the Force he hefted Qui-Gon to his feet._ _

__The couch was there, only a few steps away, and Obi-Wan could easily see him spread out across it, hair tangled and hands gripping the pillows, and Obi-Wan knew that it would _have_ to happen, but--_ _

__With a broad sweep of the Force, Obi-Wan cleared off his desk. As the content of his desktop tumbled to the floor, he pushed Qui-Gon over and down onto its surface. Qui-Gon’s hands scrambled for purchase along the smooth finish, gripping at last along the other edge. Qui-Gon was tall, but Obi-Wan’s desk was large and the position stretched Qui-Gon out, pulling him up on his toes._ _

__Perfect._ _

__Sending out loose tendrils of the Force, Obi-Wan gently circled Qui-Gon’s wrists and ankles; he wouldn’t notice unless he tried to move before Obi-Wan wanted him t o, and they were light enough to break--yet strong enough if Qui-Gon simply _couldn’t_ hold still. _ _

__Obi-Wan considered the image in his mind of Qui-Gon writhing, bent over Obi-Wan’s desk, as he dropped to his knees behind Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon gasped when he felt Obi-Wan’s hands at his waist, pulling his pants and underthings off, leaving him bare from the waist, He shifted, trying for leverage to keep his hard cock from pressing against the cold table, and Obi-Wan ran his hand over Qui-Gon’s ass. “Comfortable, love?” he asked._ _

__“Touch me, damn it,” Qui-Gon growled, and Obi-Wan complied, standing and lifting his tabards to press his cock against Qui-Gon’s bare ass. Qui-Gon pressed back, panting, trying to rock against him, but Obi-Wan stepped back._ _

__Raising his hand, Obi-Wan called the small, unmarked bottle to him from his bedroom, and it landed in his palm with a light smack. With a flick of his thumb, he opened the bottle, and the air was suddenly filled with the scent of sweet fruit, with none of the abrasive medical bitterness underneath._ _

__Obi-Wan spread a generous amount on his fingers, and watched the moment Qui-Gon noticed the difference._ _

__“Obi-Wan?” he asked, trying to turn around. The Force-crafted cuffs tightened around his wrists, and he struggled for a moment, groaning deep in his chest as he felt himself held fast. “Love?”_ _

__“Easy,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s perfectly fine.”_ _

__Qui-Gon shifted his hips, and Obi-Wan put the bottle on the desk, out of the way but still within easy reach. “Did you know that it’s incredibly easy to grow bacta? It’s like yeast - feed a strain and it will keep itself alive indefinitely.” Obi-Wan spread Qui-Gon’s cheeks with his thumbs and ran a lubed finger down his cleft. “From there it’s easy enough to add...well, anything, to tailor it to a specific use. The troops have started referring to it as ‘battle batch.’ This strain was grown right here on this ship.” As he spoke, Obi-Wan ran his fingers around Qui-Gon hole, watching the muscle twitch and hearing Qui-Gon gasp and swear softly as the muscle began to loosen._ _

__“Tingles, doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan asked. “This batch has a muscle-relaxant with the analgesic, as well as a mild stimulant that--” Obi-Wan cut himself of fas Qui-Gon cried out, sounding gut punched. He squirmed, as if trying to get away, and Obi-Wan let him raise a knee onto the desk before holding him fast again. This angle opened him wide, leaving his twitching hole exposed. “There it is,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s not too intense, is it?”_ _

__Qui-Gon was fairly thrashing. “In me,” He pleaded, “Please, fuck me, fuck me, Obi-love, fuck me.”_ _

__Obi-Wan grunted, and slid in with two fingers; he never would have, but the bacta-lube did its job well, and Qui-Gon’s muscles were relaxed and easily stretched. He had tried this on himself just the other night, and had nearly bitten a hole in his pillow when he came, fucking himself wildly on his own fingers. The lube didn’t just help ease prep and prevent painful friction, but it also seemed to increase sensation--well, it was no wonder Qui-Gon was near weeping with need. His face was flushed, and his hair was sticking to his skin, but his eyes were blown wide and his mouth begged like breathing, a constant litany of “fuck, yes, please, love, Obi, please, yes, fuck!”_ _

__It didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to open Qui-Gon widely enough--and Obi-Wan made a note to try this again with regular lube, to take his time and slowly wreck Qui-Gon over slow, torturous _hours_ \--and he slicked up his own cock, gritting his teeth as the feel of it nearly had him curling over. He lined up his cock, ears filled with the joyous cries of Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan finally pressed himself in. _ _

__Obi-Wan went easily, as if he’d been fucking Qui-Gon for hours, and Qui-Gon was already fuck-drunk and wetly open. Obi-Wan snapped his hips, hitting that spot deep inside, and Qui-Gon _wailed_ , begging devolving into a constant moan, hitching with each thrust of Obi-Wan’s hips. _ _

__Obi-Wan could feel his own orgasm building for a second time, and he tried to push it off; he refused to come again before Qui-Gon._ _

__“You’re so tight,” Obi-Wan said, mindlessly, and Qui-Gon shuddered, cries breaking. Obi-Wan grinned, flipping his hair out of his face. “You take me so well, look at you all spread open and begging for it. You love it, love my cock fucking you.”_ _

__Qui-Gon nodded, swallowing several times before he could say, “Yes! Love it! Love you! fuck!”_ _

__“You’re going to come on my cock,” Obi-Wan said, leaning in and thrusting harder. Qui-Gon’s head arched back, but no sound came from his open mouth. “You’re going to come tied down, just from my fucking you, aren’t you?”_ _

__Qui-Gon nodded blindly, rutting helplessly, his rhythm falling away as Obi-Wan reached out, tangling his fingers once more in Qui-Gon’s hair and tugging his head up. Qui-Gon’s mouth went slack with pleasure and his eyes rolled back in his head as he bucked, straining against his bonds, and came with a soundless cry._ _

__“Yes,” Obi-Wan hissed, still thrusting, working Qui-Gon through and not slowing until Qui-Gon began to shudder and whimper. Obi-Wan stilled, panting heavily. His cock burned where he was still buried in Qui-Gon’s supple flesh, and it wouldn’t take much for him to finish--he was hanging on a wire--but he waited for agonizing moments for Qui-Gon to come back to himself enough to nod, and push his hips back, and then Obi-Wan was thrusting, once, twice--and coming buried deep inside his lover._ _

__He grayed out a bit, and blinked back to himself still draped over Qui-Gon, still _inside_ him, and he slowly and carefully pulled out. Qui-Gon groaned when Obi-Wan moved, but with the Force cuffs finally gone, he was able to push himself up and turn, pulling Obi-Wan along to Obi-wan’s bed, pulling them down and wrapping Obi-wan in his arms. Obi-Wan gripped back, happy to simply be draped against his love. _ _

__At length, Qui-Gon kissed the top of his head. “That was...” he trailed off, and Obi-Wan nodded, humming. “Where did you get that? Troops don’t usually share their contraband with their Generals.”_ _

__Obi-Wan snickered. “They do when said General beats them at sabacc.” He pushed himself up enough to look at Qui-Gon and smiled when Qui-Gon brushed his hair from his eyes. “Gambling is against regs, but sometimes...” Obi-Wan wagged his head. “I came across a game the other day, told them I’d make a deal. If I won, they’d not play again, but if I lost they could tell everyone.”_ _

__Qui-Gon clicked his tongue knowingly. “And you won.”_ _

__“And won this lovely little bottle,” Obi-Wan said nodding. “I told him the price of my silence was a cut of the merchandise, and that when the war was over, I’d help him market the stuff.”_ _

__Qui-Gon laughed, holding Obi-Wan tightly to him. “Well,” he said once he’d calmed. “You’ll make a mint.”_ _


	7. The New Bacta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to punsbulletsandpointythings for the wonderful beta work!

That evening, Obi-Wan brought Qui-Gon to the mess hall for dinner. If he had known their appearance would cause the Brothers to turn from their meals to cheer, whistling and stomping and clapping their vambraces, he would have brought food to Qui-Gon’s quarters, as per usual. 

But they had woken late, sated and sore and ravenous, and now that Qui-Gon had been “introduced” so to speak, it seemed obvious enough to bring man to food. 

“It seems we made an impression,” Qui-Gon said, low and amused. Obi-Wan looked at him sideways, noting the smirk that played around Qui-Gon’s mouth, and rolled his eyes. 

“Obviously,” Obi-Wan said, only mildly tetchy, and Qui-Gon’s smile grew. 

This was familiar, too--achingly so. Qui-Gon was always pulling Obi-Wan into situations where they were the center of attention, for both good and ill, and it seemed that Qui-Gon would always delight in Obi-Wan’s discomfort in the limelight. “Honestly, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon had said. “How do you ever plan on becoming a diplomat if you cannot handle whatever social situation is thrown your way?” 

_Sheer bloody-mindedness,_ Obi-Wan thought, and stepped forward into the crowd. The din hadn’t dimmed, and no one reached out to touch him, but the stares were frankly admiring, and a few foolhardy souls were even a bit solicitous. Obi-Wan said hello to everyone in his path, and was pleased to hear Qui-Gon asking for names as they walked the gauntlet. 

At the far end of the mess, in the doorway to the officer’s quarters, Obi-Wan saw Cody and Rex standing guard. Cody had his arms crossed high over his chest, smirking outright. Rex mirrored Cody’s position with the uncanny nature some clones never escaped, though his expression was a bit more managed. Obi-Wan could feel the amusement from here, however, as well as the admiring respect. 

Finally, Obi-Wan stood in front of Cody, and placed his hands on his hips as he waited for Qui-Gon to catch up. 

“Somehow, Commander, I have a feeling this is your doing.” 

“Me, sir?” Cody asked, his words conveying the surprise that his countenance really, really didn’t. “I have no idea what you mean.” 

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan said, and turned to Rex. “And did this one drag you into this, too, or are you a casual bystander?” 

“Which answer will keep me from KP?” Rex asked, just as Qui-Gon came up behind Obi-Wan and placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He was happy, Obi-Wan could tell even without the link. Qui-Gon always was happy in a group. 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “It was Anakin’s idea, wasn’t it?” 

A voice, disembodied, called from the the officer’s mess. “How do you always know!?”

“Because you’re getting predictable, Anakin,” Obi-Wan called back, and gestured for Rex and Cody to precede them into the room. 

Anakin was sitting at his usual table, his tray of food half-eaten and a pile of circuts lay next to it. There were two other trays, mostly full, and Obi-Wan saw both Cody and Rex’s helmets. “We’ll join you after,” Obi-Wan said, and gestured vaguely towards the food line.

Cody and Rex nodded, and returned to the table, knocking into each other playfully as they walked. 

Dinner that night was, honestly, unrecognizable. It was protein, that was sure, and Obi-Wan thought he smelled a sweet-savory sauce that was popular on Corellia, but without the spice-range of a true Corellian dish. Still, Obi-Wan could feel his stomach begin to rumble, and he took his portion without complaint. He also grabbed a sweet-roll (one of the few things done correctly by the kitchens) and a portion of bitter-green vegetable. 

Unfortunately, there were no pastry tarts or little cakes, the way there would sometimes be in the Temple commissary, and Obi-Wan stuffed that craving aside for later. There would be time. 

Trays laden, they made their way to where Anakin, Cody, and Rex, had been joined by Ahsoka, who was busily stuffing her face. Obi-Wan knew she had manners that were appropriate for civilized society, she was far too close to Padme to have anything but, and yet at the same time he understood the urge. 

He didn’t understand the wide-eyed looks he got from Anakin when he sat down. Anakin looked between Obi-Wan’s tray and his face, and then from the tray to Qui-Gon’s tray, then Qui-Gon’s face to Obi-Wan’s face--then his ears turned red and be bent over his droid. 

Oh, _honestly_. Obi-Wan’s eating habits weren’t _that_ bad.

“So,” Ahsoka said, swallowing quickly. “That spar was _amazing_. Master Qui-Gon, I didn’t realize you used Ataru.” 

“What’s Ataru?” Rex asked, quietly, to Cody, but not quietly enough. Qui-Gon smiled at him, and Obi-Wan was amused to see Rex turn a little pink at the attention. 

_Oh, Rex, I know exactly how you feel._

“Ataru is a form of lightsaber technique,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan smiled softly when he recognized that as Qui-Gon’s ‘talking to the initiates’ voice. Qui-Gon had always liked spending free time in the creche, and said it helped keep him focused on what was really important. 

“There are seven commonly recognized forms, all of which serve different functions and meet different needs. All Jedi are trained in the first form, for it’s basic moves are the foundation for all other forms. Ataru, the Way of the Hawkbat, is the fourth, and is considered a very aggressive technique,” Qui-Gon continued. 

“It is Master Yoda’s favored form,” Obi-Wan added. “The aerials are perfect for adding power to a smaller fighter, and a smaller fighter is often required to achieve the needed height and speed.” 

Rex and Cody blinked in unison and turned to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon grinned, unassuming save for the wicked twinkle in his eye. Obi-Wan could see the reasoning flash across their faces: if it gives a smaller fighter power, it must give Qui-Gon an immense strength.

“It is my Grandmaster’s form,” Qui-Gon murmured quietly. “Such repetition is a lineage is not unexpected.” 

Surprisingly, it was Anakin who snorted. “Yeah, but you don’t train that much against your strengths without a damn good reason.” 

Qui-Gon laughed. “True,” he said. “My master’s preference was form II, Makashi. He was well known as _the_ Master of the form, which requires incredible precision of self and discipline of mind. It utilizes and immense economy of motion.” Qui-Gon paused to eat a bite of his food. “It was no great secret that my relationship with my master deteriorated rapidly after my fifteenth year. I was, in essence, trained by my grandmaster. I forced myself to pick up Ataru because it was a form my master hated--felt it was wasteful, and because, when used properly, it is an effective counter to Makashi.” 

Ahsoka, who knew from her time in the creche just who Qui-Gon’s master was, nearly choked on her food.

“I like it,” Rex said. “Gives you an advantage and sticks one too.” 

“I thought so,” Qui-Gon said. 

Cody turned to Obi-Wan. “You were using it as well,” he said, and Obi-Wan nodded. 

“It was my chosen form throughout my years as a Padawan,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not considered very practical. Many use form V instead, like Anakin, as form IV has very little in the way of defense.” 

There was a pause as the the table began to unpick the implications, but it was Qui-Gon who spoke, a sad understanding in his voice. “So you chose Soresu, a form that is nothing but defense.” 

Obi-Wan found his appetite suddenly lacking. “In combat, I tend to use a mixture of different styles; many Jedi do, who find themselves fighting in the real world. It’s hard to stick to a single form when you’re not fighting a trained Jedi,” he said. 

There was silence for a moment, before Rex cleared his throat. “Did you ever beat him? Your Master?” 

Qui-Gon looked at Rex, and Obi-Wan felt the Force shiver around them. “Not yet.” 

 

***

As with all things in Obi-Wan’s life, just as he was getting used to having something _good_ , it ended. 

Obi-Wan reported to the Bridge at the beginning of his shift, as per usual, only to look twice at the date at the top of his report. They would be arriving at Coruscant the next day, and Obi-Wan felt something shiver, like an early spring flower under a late season frost. His time with Qui-Gon on the ship had been--was--idyllic. Obi-Wan could forget the war for a time, could ignore the responsibilities on his shoulders, the duty he had to the Order and the people of the Republic. 

He could carve out this one special moment for himself, and cling tightly to those he held dear--and for once, he wouldn’t have his desires ripped from his arms. 

The last several days had passed in a giddy haze; his family was whole and alive, free of injury and duty (for the moment) and, well--

Obi-Wan had had more and better sex in the past week than he had over the course of the last several years--by a large margin. Once his teenaged hormones had cooled, despite the best efforts of both Garen and Quinlan, Obi-Wan had deferred to his aching heart and had chosen to remain celibate--often comparing it to the way one would abstain from drink at a party. Someone had to stay sober and get everyone home. (For some reason, that always made Quinlan and Garen--and even Anakin, redouble their efforts. It had been quite vexing.)

As a result, the long lack combined with the intensity and frequency of his liaisons with Qui-Gon made his head spin--It was all he could to do hold on and joyfully ride the wave of it. He was sore and often had to hide tell-tale bruising. He couldn’t pass medical without getting aroused at the scent of it, and he was constantly hungry--and Obi-Wan honestly couldn’t remember ever being this relaxed and happy--couldn’t remember _Qui-Gon_ being this happy. He was loathe to give it up--and there was no doubt in his mind that it would _have_ to end, once they were in front of the Council. The rules were clear. 

There were things, after all, that the Council would forgive out on the battlefield, in the far reaches of the galaxy, that they would not tolerate on Coruscant--two Jedi Masters, one miraculously returned from the dead, fucking at every available opportunity would most definitely be something they would _not_ tolerate. 

No. The path before him was clear. As a councilor, he had no excuse. 

It had to end. 

_Does it, though? Really?_ he asked himself, stilling. Around him, the bridge continued to hum, the troops going through their duties with soft voices that did little more than remind him where he was, and yet Obi-Wan’s eyes tracked rapidly over the datapad--but he wasn’t seeing the report. 

Of course it had to end. The Council is very clear where it stands on Attachment. Force knows he’d debated it often enough with Yoda. 

Obi-Wan nodded to himself, and lowered the pad, walking over to the forward viewscreen. Settling himself, he looked out into the patterns of hyperspace. It was hypnotic, and he knew he really wasn’t supposed to stare for very long, but Obi-Wan always thought that hyperspace-madness was, in part, due to the smaller crews of spacer vessels. There were certainly enough people on board a Star Destroyer to keep him safe. 

It reminded him of his early meditations. A senior Padawan, and it would change with the rotations, would light a candle and place it between them and the Initiates. The goal was to track the flame and slow one’s breathing, as the senior Padawan would pulse the flame in time with meditative breaths--it was as much an exercise in control for the senior Padawan as it was for the Initiates. 

Obi-Wan felt that calm now; hyperspace pulsed around them, a perfect rhythm. Not every Jedi found the pulse soothing, it was too far from their resting rate of breathing, but it worked for Obi-Wan, and for Anakin, when he couldn’t tire himself out with katas. 

_The Council is wrong, _he thought. _You said it yourself._ __

__Had he? He never used to, arguing with Qui-Gon about his attachments to the various pathetic life-forms he’d found. Obi-Wan used to get so frustrated--perhaps because Qui-Gon was making the very attachments that Obi-Wan craved, and couldn’t let himself have. (If he had one, he had to have them all, clinging closed to his friends and keeping them near. Smothering.)_ _

__Recently, however, in the wake of the loss he had suffered when Qui-Gon had fallen to Maul, Obi-Wan lost his reticence on attachment, even as he held himself further apart. He cautioned Anakin, for he saw the same potential for hurt that Obi-Wan found in himself, and yet he had always argued in favor of attachment, in those sessions with Yoda. Obi-Wan always said it was just for the sake of argument, but it was for Anakin’s, really. To give Anakin a loophole. Slowly, Obi-Wan crossed his wrists behind his back, holding his hands at parade rest. Perhaps, he hadn’t been arguing solely on Anakin’s behalf._ _

__Qui-Gon had always chided him to not focus on his anxieties, to focus on the present moment. Was it not right, then, to not fear what _might_ happen when an attachment sours? Would it not be better to teach acceptance and healing? Attachments were unavoidable, and trying to push them aside would only lead to trouble. (They may already have; the Jedi were caught unawares and unprepared for this war. How many fallen Jedi could have remained in the Light if they had learned how to turn to each other for support?)_ _

__Obi-Wan believed it, too, with all of his growing conviction--The Council’s views on Attachment were outdated, if not wrong outright. The past few days with Qui-Gon--with Qui-Gon as his _lover_ \--seemed proof of that. _ _

__When Qui-Gon had died, Obi-Wan had felt the loss like Maul’s saber had cut a hole in his own chest. He had wondered about that, idly in his shock, if his bond with his Master had created a sympathetic link. Did Obi-Wan truly feel his Master’s pain (he never let himself ask if it was true, if that level of sympathy could have taken some of the burden from Qui-Gon, could have supported him until help arrived and Qui-Gon could be saved--could heal--could _live_ \--) or was that simply the form of his grief? _ _

__Obi-Wan never got a satisfactory answer, but he could feel the hole shrinking now, as it had been shrinking since that night in the cave. His grief, long since pushed aside, had come bubbling up and over, only to dissipate, at last, into the Force, leaving tender new-flesh behind._ _

__Obi-Wan had never been so happy as when he and Qui-Gon were together, just the two of them, tracing the scars on each other’s skin. So much story to tell. So many near misses. Qui-Gon balanced him, balanced his need and Obi-Wan felt secured for the first time in a decade. Qui-Gon seemed happier too--long gone was the grief of Xanatos, of Tahl and Micha--they would always be there, scars like so many others, but no longer sucking wounds. With Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon smiled._ _

__Which was all well and good, until something went wrong. When the end was inevitable--it would have been better to never begun!_ _

___A life lived in fear of endings is not a life lived at all._ _ _

__Obi-Wan stilled, squeezing his wrist tightly enough to feel his pulse racing against his thumb._ _

__The rules against attachment were to prevent exactly that--fear, anger, and hate that result from the loss, but it was not a life lived--not truly. It was an _existence_ , perhaps. _ _

__Perhaps that was why the Jedi Obi-Wan knew who struggled with it the most were the ones who were the most _alive_ \--those strongest in the Living Force. _ _

__Qui-Gon had always despaired of Obi-Wan’s limited attachment to the Living Force, had been leery of the depths of the Unified Force that Obi-Wan could reach. Obi-Wan would not call himself a Master of the Living Force, but he had spent his life surrounded by Jedi with deep connections--Yoda, Qui-Gon, and Anakin, all._ _

___Live in the moment._ Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon clearly, as if he had spoken through their bond, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let himself _feel_. _ _

__The Force drifted around him, like the warm current of a tropical ocean, cradling him gently as it sang with peace and contentment and love. Obi-Wan’s lips parted in a silent gasp, even as his eyes shot open. He’d--the Force--It was--The Force had felt wrong for a long time, with the grief and strife of constant pain and war, pulsing with the spider-veined darkness that choked the light, but even before the war he’d _never_ felt the Force like _that_. _ _

___Obi-Wan?_ it was Anakin, poking at his shields. Refocusing on his bonds, Obi-Wan felt the satisfied pleasure from Qui-Gon, and the curious concern of Anakin. Since their moment in the hangar, Obi-Wan had eased his grip on his end of their bond--their _training_ bond, that they were supposed to dissolve when Anakin earned his knighthood. They hadn’t, however--it was too useful at the time, and as the years passed, it was a comfort to Obi-Wan, to feel Anakin wherever he was, even if they kept up their shields. _ _

__Now, however, Obi-Wan sent Qui-Gon a wordless query, hoping for some sort of insight, and sent Anakin reassurance. _I’m fine, Ani,_ he said. _Just thinking_. _ _

___Last time thinking felt like that was my wedding night_ Anakin shot back, dryly. _ _

__Obi-Wan paused, feeling a now-familiar warmth spread through him. Now that Obi-Wan “knew” about him and Padme, Anakin had been casual dropping names and references that, well, revealed him to be the love-struck sap that he was. That Anakin _trusted_ Obi-Wan enough to be this open about his relationship, well--it made Obi-Wan feel rather humble, and a bit giddy, to be honest._ _

___We need to talk--all of us,_ Obi-Wan sent back without answering, doubling the message on to Qui-Gon. _Ahsoka, too. In a place where we_ cannot _be interrupted._ _ _

__There was silence for a long moment, concern from both quarters, though Obi-Wan had a feeling Qui-Gon had guessed what Obi-Wan wanted them to discuss._ _

___Ahsoka’s down in the hanger with Fives and Echo,_ Anakin sent. _I’ll get her. Meet in Conference Three?__ _

__Conference Three wasn’t actually a conference room--at least, not on any diagnostic sheet on file. It was, or had been, a larger storage closet that Anakin had retrofitted one long journey early on in the war. It wasn’t hooked into the system’s CCTV, and Anakin regularly kept it swept of bugs, though he never found any--it seemed that their best protection was still secrecy at this point._ _

__Ultimately, Conference Three was a contingency that had never been used--preparation for an internal threat to the GAR. Anakin had explained his reasoning from the point of espionage--interrogation of prisoners that had to be kept from Separatist spies. Obi-Wan always thought that answer was a little...neat, but it hadn’t been enough to stop him from heading the niggling sensation in the back of his mind that this would be important, someday._ _

__It was certainly important today, when the subject matter would be, quite frankly, considered treason and heresy._ _

___”Conference Three.”_ _ _

__Obi-Wan reached the room first, entering and flipping the switches on the control panel in the pre-arranged sequence, enabling jammers and signal disruptors. There would be no interruptions._ _

__Qui-Gon was first to arrive, sliding in silently. Obi-Wan smiled at him, relieved--with the secret nature of the discussion at hand, Qui-Gon had to give his guard the slip. There could be no one that could remember anything out of the ordinary, and until cleared by the council, Qui-Gon still couldn't travel the ship unencumbered._ _

__Striding forward as soon as the doors closed, Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan’s shoulders and placed a kiss on the center of Obi-Wan’s forehead. Obi-Wan smiled, closing his eyes and letting his hands come up to gently hold Qui-Gon’s elbows._ _

__Qui-Gon pulled back, looking at Obi-Wan. “It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked._ _

__Obi-Wan nodded, looking down for a moment before raising his eyes once more. “We need a strategy,” Obi-Wan said. “And for more than just your presence. Palpatine is good at figuring when he needs to stick his own nose into places, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Palpatine is waiting for us at the platform.” Obi-Wan’s voice was dryer than dust. “He’s such a good friend of Anakin’s, after all”_ _

__Qui-Gon nodded. “Agreed. This is not the situation to go off half-cocked. There is too much at stake to risk that kind of maneuver. Palpatine will have to be dealt with, and then it’s only a matter of time: who do we trust?”_ _

__Obi-Wan bit his lip, tapping his fingers against Qui-Gon’s elbows until Qui-Gon pulled him in and hugged him against his chest. Obi-Wan stilled his fingers by twining them in the back of Qui-Gon’s robes, and Qui-Gon chuckled into Obi-Wan’s hair._ _

__“And to think I was getting used to having tunics that lay flat again,” Qui-Gon muttered._ _

__Flushing, Obi-Wan tried to pull away, but Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan in more tightly. “Shhh,” he murmured. I was just teasing. I don’t mind.”_ _

__With a sigh, Obi-Wan pressed his face into Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “I mind,” he said, quietly. “I’ve been doing better, recently, with my control, even with the war on. I can’t afford to slip up now.” Gently, Obi-Wan unwound his fingers and placed his hands flat against Qui-Gon’s back. Qui-Gon, thankfully, didn’t say anything._ _

__A moment later the door opened, and Obi-Wan hard Ahsoka and Anakin enter, though Qui-Gon didn’t make any move to let Obi-Wan go._ _

__“Woah,” Ahsoka said, quietly, and stopped._ _

__Anakin, still in the doorway, gently pushed her further into the room so it could close behind them. “If this is what you wanted to discuss, we already know,” Anakin said. “We don’t need the practical demonstration.”_ _

__“I’ll remember that the next time we have to escort Senator Amidala anywhere,” Obi-Wan muttered into Qui-Gon’s robes, and felt Qui-Gon’s laugher. Even Ahsoka stifled a giggle._ _

__“Ha, ha,” Anakin said, and pulled out a chair. He dropped into it like he was still a sullen teenaged padawan, not the general and knight he actually was. It made Obi-Wan smile, however, as he pulled away from Qui-Gon._ _

__Ahsoka pulled out the chair next to Anakin, perching on the edge and leaning her forearms on the tabletop. She looked so young, so eager--Obi-Wan prayed that they’d be able to finish this war before Ahsoka lost that edge of youth._ _

__Obi-Wan gestured for Qui-Gon to sit, and Qui-Gon nodded, pulling out his chair and mirroring the way Ahsoka sat. Obi-Wan reached for the fourth chair, but instead of pulling it out, he leaned against it and looked at the three of them._ _

__“What we are about to discuss in here is information that is not nearly ready to spread to any save ourselves; not the troops, not the council, not anyone in the senate--not even Padme, Anakin.”_ _

__Anakin frowned, sitting up straighter._ _

__Obi-Wan took a deep breath_ _


	8. Speaking of many things, Pineapples and Kings

“Since Qui-Gon’s return, my only plan had been to return to Coruscant and bring him before the Council,” Obi-Wan began. The room was deathly quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the engines and the faint buzzing of the lights. Even the air was still, and beyond ship-stale. “Any Jedi, even a Counselor, can only act unilaterally to a degree before they must consult the wisdom of the whole Council.” Obi-Wan linked his hands behind his back, gripping tightly. “Surely, I thought, that a Master returning from the Force beyond death was a matter of which the Council must be made aware.” 

Obi-Wan’s tone turned dry, the the bite of it sharp on his own tongue. He felt so damned _foolish_. How long had he been so blindly led? As a young rrPadawan, Obi-Wan had been branded as much of a troublemaker as his Master. When had that changed? When had become so _stolid?_ When had he allowed himself to be turned from following the will of the Force? 

“You said _thought_ ,” Anakin said. “You don’t think so?” 

Obi-Wan looked directly at Anakin, and knew it had begun when he had taken Anakin as his student; he had been so paralyzed by fear of failure that he had been blinded to the Force--that it was only when the Force spoke though Anakin, who, even though the war had dimmed his presence as well, burned like a bonfire in the Force, that Obi-Wan could see. _But that’s not the only reason_ Obi-Wan realized, and _knew_ why no one had caught that his actions on Coruscant were far more strict that when they were off-world. 

Damn the Sith!

Obi-Wan repressed a snarl, and forced himself to answer. “Not anymore,” he said. “I now believe the situation is far more dire than any of us realized.” Obi-Wan paused, and raised an eyebrow to Qui-Gon. “Well, dire enough to raise the dead, anyway,” he said. 

“I will always rise for you, my dear Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, as if in correction, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, feeling his ears flush. Anakin’s stone-face had softened. He pressed his fingers to his temples as if to ward off a headache, but his mouth twitched shamelessly into a smile. Even Ahsoka had her hand in front of her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her mirth. 

Obi-Wan ran his eyes over Qui-Gon’s body, lingering in his lap and raising an eyebrow, as if considering. Qui-Gon, cheeky, shifted his his seat, meeting Obi-Wan’s challenge and spreading his legs to Obi-Wan’s view. 

“Hey, hey!” Anakin protested. “There are innocent eyes in this room.” 

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen worse.” 

“I wasn’t talking about _you_ ” Anakin muttered, and then did a double take. “What do you mean worse?” 

Ahsoka froze, as if she hadn’t meant to say anything. “Nothing. Not at all, nope. I definitely didn’t accidentally walking in on Jesse and Kix a while ago while looking for a bacta patch.” She grinned, her teeth together and showing her fangs, and Anakin stared back with narrowed eyes. After a moment, he pointed a finger at her. 

“I’m watching you.” 

“Fine,” Ahsoka said. “Next time, you can yell at them.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled, shifting back and crossing his legs. The tension in the room had receded, and Obi-Wan could feel himself able to breathe once more. Suddenly, what he had to say, as dire as the implications were, was no longer quite so daunting. 

How could he ever have considered giving this up? These people, his lineage—his _family_ —he was never letting them go. He would hold them to him, pull them close, and no Council could tell him otherwise. There were others, too, outside of this room. Padme and Rex and Cody and Bail--and suddenly, his previously empty life felt nearly overfull, like the couches in Padme’s apartments. 

Force, Obi-Wan had been in Padme’s apartments often enough to have a favorite seat and knew where the teacups were in Bail’s kitchen. He had in-jokes with Cody, and could pick Rex from a lineup of brothers dressed as shinies. 

(There were more, Bant and Quinlan and Garen and even _Mace_ \--) 

Obi-Wan pulled himself from his revelation with some effort, shaking his head to hopefully bring himself some much needed focus. 

“Jesse and Kix’s...extra-curriculars aside,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring Anakin’s muttered _oh, is that what we’re calling it?_ , “We have a greater threat before us, and one that I’m afraid none of as prepared to face.” 

The levity drained quickly from the room, and when Anakin and Ahsoka looked at Obi-Wan, their faces were determined and focused. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s mind against his, a reassuring press, and began to speak. 

“We stand on a wire not of our own design,” he said, feeling the words ring between them. “On the one side, the Republic, and thus the Order, are at war, fighting a seemingly endless parade of battles against an enemy that we cannot tire, cannot outnumber, and cannot demoralize. On the other side, the Order is often at odds with the Senate, and of the two, that front is far more treacherous, for the Order can never appear to be at odds with the Senate as it is in the political field that all else is decided.” Obi-Wan leaned in, lowering his voice. “That is Padme’s war, one of policy and politics,” he said. He leaned back, sighing deeply. “Ultimately, our battles attack a symptom, while she tries to tackle the disease.” 

Anakin frowned. “You’re saying the Senate is a disease?” he asked, and Obi-Wan could hear every self-righteous complaint that Anakin didn’t really _need_ his civics lessons, did he? But it was Ahsoka who got it first, her eyes growing wide. 

“No, you’re saying the Senate _has_ a disease,” she said, her voice nearly breathless, as if she couldn’t believe what she was saying. 

“I am,” Obi-Wan said, and there it was, the heart of this whole thing. “And it is one the Jedi share.” 

Ahsoka’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she leaned back a bit, shaking her head, but Anakin--Anakin was watching Obi-Wan with his unreadable intensity. Only their bond betrayed the tentative hope that Anakin felt. 

“How much have you learned of the history of the Order?” Qui-Gon asked, taking Obi-Wan’s lead with ease. Unsurprisingly, Anakin looked a bit sheepish, but surprisingly Ahsoka did as well. It wasn’t like her; for all of her tendency to follow Anakin’s more aggressive approach to combat, and honestly delighted in the physicality of combat, Obi-Wan always knew her to be an attentive student. He raised an eyebrow at her, and Ahsoka rushed to explain. 

“I passed my basic requirements,” Ahsoka said. “But most of the initiates in my age group were exempted from further study in favor of tactics and weapons training. Master Ugway said there’d be time after the war for things like history.” 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a long moment, as if physically pained, and Obi-Wan sent him a wordless reassurance. Obi-Wan hadn’t been in favor of the change in curriculum, either—how many times had his understanding of history de-escalate a situation, after all—but he had not been consulted in the matter, being near the Rim on campaign, and hadn’t been back to the Temple for many months after. 

Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon settled into his story-teller’s stance. Posture straight, chin raised and eyes open. It was a subtle way to command attention and convey confidence, while also being one to administer authority. It was perfect for young Initiates who had not yet the full control over themselves and their attention, as well as for politicians who do not wish to listen to the advice of the Jedi whom they themselves had called, when he was telling them something they did not want to hear. 

Obi-Wan had nearly broken his composure laughing the first time Qui-Gon lectured a senior magistrate as if he was a rowdy crechling, but it had _worked_ , and worked well enough that Obi-Wan had adopted it himself. Even as a baby-faced junior Knight, it had afforded Obi-Wan some necessary gravitas. 

It did not fail to work now, capturing the attention of Ahsoka and Anakin both. Even Obi-Wan felt more compelled to listen when Qui-Gon spoke. 

“First,” he said, “A Jedi always has time for history, for it is from history that we learn the present and prepare for the future.” Ahsoka bowed her head at him, acknowledging his words, and Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow at Anakin. Getting Anakin to listen to any history that wasn’t directly related to the Sith or his machines had been a constant battle, though Obi-Wan was confident he had impressed enough of its importance by the time Anakin was Knighted. Anakin very deliberately did _not_ look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan made sure to send Anakin his humor.

“Second,” Qui-Gon continued, “The Jedi were not always aligned with the Senate. We used to be an autonomous and neutral third party. It was only after the last Sith Empire that the main Temple was moved to Coruscant, and the Jedi were allied with the Republic.” It had been a point of some contention at the time, Obi-Wan knew. The opposition’s point of view had been an interest of Qui-Gon’s during Obi-Wan’s fourteenth to seventeenth years, and Obi-Wan had learned much from Qui-Gon’s lectures, and what little he had read of Qui-Gon’s datapads. 

Come to think of it, Obi-Wan didn’t think Qui-Gon ever stopped studying; he had simply run out of the texts that Madame Nu was willing to lend from the library without special permission from the Council. Obi-Wan blinked as he remembered an afternoon when Master Yoda had come to visit. Qui-Gon had begun their visit hopeful, but when Obi-Wan had returned from his ‘saber practice, Qui-Gon had been irritable and sullen. They had begun, then, a near-three-year stint of being constantly on assignment. 

The reasoning wasn’t very complex, from what Obi-Wan remembered. They were very similar to the reasoning that vaced Obi-Wan now: to be allied to the Republic was to be answerable to the Senate. To be allied to none was to be answerable to the Force. What was interesting was that those who opposed were branded as Fallen and forced to leave the Order. Obi-Wan wondered if that was truly the case. 

Just when _did_ their views on attachment become what they were today?

“The decision to ally may have been the correct one,” Qui-Gon continued. “Certainly over a thousand years of peace and prosperity speaks for itself—” 

Anakin scoffed, and Qui-Gon’s satisfaction flared through their link, even though his face remained calm. He turned to Anakin with interest. “You disagree?” 

Anakin crossed his arms, staring Qui-Gon down. “Peace and Prosperity--for the Core. The Senate doesn’t care about the Rim worlds--even the Mid-Rim planets are mostly left to their own devices, but they’re “valuable” so when they ask for help, they get it. What does the Rim get? Hutts—slavers and gangsters—and all the _nothing_ they can choke down.” 

Qui-Gon cocked his head. “What do you suggest then?” 

It was quiet for a moment as Anakin stared back at Qui-Gon. “I know what you’re doing,” Anakin said. “And I know what it sounds like—Padme talks about the grievances of the Separatists as if fixing it would make them want to stop fighting.” he looked away. “I don’t know how to make her understand that it’s not enough. There’s no trust there--a thousand years of peace, and nearly that long of being stepped on to achieve another’s prosperity.” Anakin shook his head. “Any slave would tell you; you don’t willing work for your slaver after the collar’s off.” 

Ahsoka bit her lip. “But...not all the Separatists are from the Rim. Most of them are Mid-Rim planets, and none of them have slavery.” 

“So they say,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan had never heard him sound so _defeated_ before, but he didn’t elaborate. 

“Anakin is right,” Obi-Wan said, his voice soft but firm and steady. “The Republic, and through them the Jedi, have been saying all and doing only a fraction. I’ve argued with the Council about this before,” Here, Anakin looked sharply at Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan ignored it. “Hells, I’ve argued with _you_ about it before, Qui.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his eyes sad. “I was blinded by my own limitations, Obi-Wan. And I am sorry, to you,” he turned, “And to you, Anakin. While I cannot regret getting you off of Tatooine, I was not acting my best, and many have suffered for it.” 

Anakin fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “She died, you know,” he said. “Before I could go back.” 

“I know,” Qui-Gon said, and reached out his hand, placing it on the table within Anakin’s reach. “Just as I know that she was not alone, in the end.” 

Surprise, and a good amount of fear, rushed Obi-Wan before Anakin’s shields slammed down on their bond. What in all the realms was _that_? Obi-Wan sent a tendril out to Qui-Gon, and was gently but firmly pushed back. Looking at Ahsoka, Obi-Wan saw his own ignorance and concern mirrored back at him. 

After a moment, Anakin reached up and gripped Qui-Gon’s hand in his own. “Soon,” Qui-Gon said, with an undercurrent of command in his tone. After a moment, Anakin nodded. 

Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon as he pulled back, but when Qui-Gon looked back, Obi-Wan knew he’d not be getting any more answers from him. He stamped down his own fear and frustration to meditate on later. 

“Anakin is not the only member of the Order to question our close ties with the Republic. Even as a new Padawan, I remember my Master debating the Jedi’s role in the Republic with Master Yoda. It was this issue, the ultimate direction and purpose of the Jedi order, that caused the rift between them, and sent my Master to the Shadows in the Outer Rim.” Qui-Gon sighed. “In my last conversation with my Master, if you could call what the words between us had become by that point a ‘conversation,’ he blamed Yoda for all the ills in the Order.” Qui-Gon snorted. “It was terribly reductionist in a way he would never have tolerated from me, but I could tell that he believed it with all the faith he had in the Force.”

“I can’t imagine _Yoda_ being his target,” Obi-Wan confessed. The ancient Master was deeply steeped in the light side of the Force. It was nigh impossible to think that the Jedi who so delighted in teaching the smallest of the younglings would be bad for the Order. “Unless that was the first sign of his descent.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Anakin said, and rolled his eyes when Obi-Wan looked at him in disbelief. “Come on, Obi-Wan. Of course you can’t see it. He _likes_ you; he never trusted _me_.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t even bother trying to respond to that; Anakin was right. How many times had Obi-Wan defended his Padawan to Yoda? From the very first, Anakin’s training had been a sticking place between the two of them. 

“I had my own rift with my Master, begun long before then,” Qui-Gon continued. “Yoda was often a feature of our arguments, sometimes even by stepping between us. By the end, I think I was trained more by Yoda than by Dooku.” He shook his head, so lost in his memories that he didn’t notice Ahsoka choke on air. Obi-Wan and Anakin shared a grimace: apparently they had neglected to inform the young Padawan of the full extent of her lineage. 

Qui-Gon sighed. “Yet, of all that we fought about the whys and and hows, that the Jedi were stagnating was a subject on which we both agreed. I began my own research, and by the time I took Obi-Wan as my Padawan, I had cemented my reputation as a maverick and a heretic--because, as it was quite clear to me,the Jedi were not only stagnant, but _diminished_ , in power, scope, and number.”

Qui-Gon leaned forward, breaking his posture to rest his elbows on his knees. “When I think of how much we have lost, in understanding and ability,” he shook his head. “I was forever blacklisted by Madame Nu when I suggested that her library was not only incomplete, but deliberately cultivated to promote a singular point of view.” 

And that would explain why Obi-Wan was always sent for Qui-Gon’s books. Obi-Wan pressed his tongue to his cheek to prevent his rather inappropriate grin. Now was neither the time nor the place. 

Qui-Gon spread his hands. “Where once the Jedi had been met with welcome and relief, we were now met with anger, fear, and suspicion.” He clapped his hands shut . 

“Baby-stealers,” Anakin said, suddenly. “Crazed wizards who can twist your mind.” 

Ahsoka was looking at Anakin as if he had grown a second head, but Qui-Gon was nodding sadly. 

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said. “By answering the whims of the Senate, not only has the Order lost sight of the greater galaxy, but the greater galaxy has lost sight of the Order.” 

“But how could that happen?” Ahsoka asked, looking between them. “Before the war, the Council didn’t answer to the Senate, did it?” 

Anakin snorted. “The Order is funded by the Republic; of course they answered to the Senate, even if no one would admit it.” He smiled wryly at Obi-Wan. “Follow the money.” 

It was a cynical view of it, but the correct one, nonetheless. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “It’s not entirely an accident.” 

Anakin sat up suddenly. “You think it’s a conspiracy?” 

“A long-game, yes,” Obi-Wan said. “Qui-Gon, no matter your opinion of the Council, we’re not entirely blind to the situation. There are those of us, within the greater Order as well, who have long suspected that the current war is the result of the machinations of a single Sith with the purpose of sowing chaos and gaining power. A Master—Master to Maul, to Dooku,” Obi-Wan paused, the identity of the Sith and all the little moments that didn’t quite add up swirling around him to coalesce into a sudden crystal truth. “And he is working on a third,” he said, and did not, did _not_ , look at Anakin, though he saw the way Qui-Gon looked sharply at him. 

“A third apprentice?” Anakin asked, leaning in. “Who? How do you know? Who is the Master?” 

Obi-Wan sighed. “That, my dear Anakin, is partially why we’re here.” He pulled out his chair and sat, finally, dropping a bit more heavily than he had planned to, but this was a heavy subject. Surely, he could be forgiven this. 

“Death frees us from our physical bodies,” Qui-Gon said, his voice in the same tone of casual lecture that Obi-Wan had grown so familiar with. “For most, it frees us from physical concerns, as well. But I, in the studies of my youth, long before I joined my Master is his suspicions, I came across some of the more obscure texts, stored in the Temple of the Whills. There, they described a way to...not transcend death, but to postpone the final dissolution into the Force, to remain in limbo for as long as your will lasts.” Qui-Gon smiled. “It is amazing what you can learn when there is no one who can see you.” 

Ahsoka, who had been balancing on the rear two legs of her chair, fell forward. “You know who the Sith Lord is!” 

Qui-Gon nodded. “I do,” he said. 

“Well, who is he?” Anakin demanded, again. “He has to be someone high up, if he’s pulling strings. He—” he paled, suddenly. “You don’t think he’s enthralled Palpatine, do you?” he asked, full of quiet horror, but Obi-Wan saw in his eyes the truth that had occured to him--the truth that Anakin was desperately trying to avoid. 

Obi-Wan hesitated. “No, Anakin,” he said at last. “No, I’m afraid Palpatine is acting entirely of his own free will.” 

It didn’t take long for Anakin to understand. “No,” he said, standing, his chair wrenching away against the floor and shrieking horribly. “No, that can’t be true.” 

Ahsoka gasped, near silently, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes, wide and horrified, watched Anakin, even as her righteous concern for flowed from her, nearly palpable.

Obi-Wan stared up at Anakin, his mouth working silently for a minute. “I’m so sorry, Ani,” he whispered, at last. He had no idea what else he could possibly say; if Anakin didn’t believe them, then they were sunk before they began—but Anakin did believe, Obi-Wan could see it in his eyes, and that might have been so much worse.

For a moment, it looked as if Anakin would deny it again, his face red and his eyes flashing dangerously—but Anakin wasn’t stupid, had never been stupid, for all that he liked to play at it. He sunk back into his seat, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Bleakly, he stared at the table top, and Ahsoka reached out a hand, hesitating before she touched him, and then, gently, laying a hand on his arm. 

Anakin didn’t react immediately, but after a moment, he placed his gloved hand over hers. He looked up at the group. 

“He knows everything,” Anakin said, his voice cracked and burnt. “I tell—told him—everything. The Order, Mom, Padme, I—” Anakin broke off, shaking his head. “He hasn’t needed spies in the Order; I was his spy.” His breath heaved, and his eyes raised to meet Obi-Wan. 

“It was me, wasn’t it?” he demanded. “The new apprentice. You meant me.” 

Obi-Wan felt his mouth twist as he tried to keep everything he was feeling from playing across his face, but he knew he was failing and miserably. He nodded, but again could only say: “I’m so sorry.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “I failed you,” he breathed, hating the way his voice hitched on the last. 

“What?” Anakin stood again, his own grief trailing behind him like a long, black cape, but he still jumped the table and pulled Obi-Wan to his feet. Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s arms to brace himself as Anakin gripped Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “You didn’t fail me!” 

“I let you—” Obi-Wan broke off, shaking his head, his anger at himself clear on his face. “I _encouraged—_ ” 

“You _didn’t know,_ \--”

“That’s not excuse!” Obi-Wan cried out, but he still didn’t try to push Anakin away. How could he, when all he wanted was to pull Anakin in, to move past this and comfort him. “You were in my care, and I let you near that _monster_ \--”

“It’s _not your fault!_ Anakin cried, and the room around them shuddered, the walls bowing slightly from the pressure. Everyone fell silent. “The past is past,” Anakin said, quietly. “The future is uncertain. All we can do, is focus on the present.” Anakin ducked his head to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “You taught me that.” 

Obi-Wan breathed for a moment, and then a small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth as he let his anger go. “That does sound like me,” he said. Anakin smiled back, his eyes still dark and haunted, but determined. He squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulders again. 

“So what do we do?” Ahsoka asked, looking around at them. “Normally, we try to kill the Sith. We can’t just kill the Chancellor.” 

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “But he must be killed; if he’s allowed to trial, it would be as if we never caught him at all. This is a Jedi matter, and must be dealt with via our laws.” Even as he spoke, however, he knew it wasn’t that simple. “Yet, as much as the Order shouldn’t be entrenched in the politics of the Republic, it doesn’t change the fact that it _is_ ; the abrupt removal and death of the Chancellor would destabilize far too much.” 

“That is assuming you would get to him before he discovered you were after him,” Qui-Gon added. “He’s been at this a long time; he would not let himself fail so easily so close to his final goal.” 

“So why _can’t_ we tell the Council?” Ahsoka countered. “You said it yourself; that was your first plan. Maybe having a Sith in office would make them wake up and _act_.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, ignoring Anakin’s blatant disbelief in the abilities of the Council when his former Padawan blew a loud, rude noise from his mouth. “Yes, Ahsoka; under normal circumstances that is exactly what we would do--but,” He paused, looking at Qui-Gon “But the consequences of that plan are no longer ones I’m willing to live with.” Reaching out, Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon’s hand in his own, and felt his heart hum with the strength of Qui-Gon’s pride and affection. 

Anakin’s face twitched, like it was trying to tighten the way it always did when he was faced with something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have. His desire to smile, however, was far too great, and slowly a grin spread over his face.

“I want us all to be clear,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “What we’re saying is considered heresy. They may well try to kick us out of the Order.” 

Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand. “That depends entirely on when and how the Council is informed.” He grinned when Obi-Wan gave him a flat look. “Isn’t it lucky that we know a Council member already on our side. 

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes, but Obi-Wan did not yet sense censor from her. “You’re speaking of rebellion,” she said. “Of schism.”

“Not schism. We have no wish to divide loyalties. It’s more...reform,” Qui-Gon countered. 

“Whatever it is, it’s necessary,” Anakin said, his voice tight. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “And long overdue, I’m afraid.” He looked around the table. “If we are to survive this war, we need to take a good, long look at the truths we cling to. Already, most of the Order is compromised by attachment--or do you think Plo Koon will willingly give up his Wolfpack?” 

Ahsoka snorted. “Yeah, about ten minutes after you give up Cody, or Skyguy here gives up Rex.” She put her hand in the middle of the table, a gesture she must have picked up in the clone barracks. “I’m in.” 

Anakin put his hand in a moment later. “Things need to change,” he said. 

“Agreed,” Qui-Gon said, placing his large hand on theirs. 

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, adding his hand to the rest, and felt something _shift_ around them--like a new possibility had just opened to them. “Now all we need is a plan.” 

“As long as Skyguy isn’t in charge of it, we’ll be fine.” 

“Hey!”


	9. Star Wars: A New Pineapple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to punsbulletsandpointythings for being an AMAZING BETA. This chapter was written, workshoped, and betad ALL IN ONE DAY. HAPPY 40TH ANNIVERSARY STAR WARS!

“Our main objective must be the Sith,” Qui-Gon said, gathering the attention of the room with ease. Even Obi-Wan felt himself calm and focus on the issue at hand with little more than the soothing power of Qui-Gon’s voice. “We can do nothing if he remains in power.” 

True, and yet— “We must be cautious,” Obi-Wan said, attention shifting naturally to him. “He has done too much to weaken us, to make us dependant on the Senate, and the Senate on him.” Obi-Wan said. “Don’t think he wont salt the earth behind him. If he falls, he will make sure the Order falls with him.” 

Anakin shrugged. “So we need to shore up the Order before we take him out.”. As if it was that easy. Obi-Wan wondered sometimes if Anakin’s unwillingness to entertain details was a side effect of his power; he’d never been in a combat situation where he was outmatched in brute Force strength; often his opponents won through greater skill and trickery. 

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’d certainly love to know how.” Anakin looked at him, brow furrowed as if he expected Obi-Wan to be mocking him, and Obi-Wan hid a wince. Certainly, Obi-Wan had teased Anakin over the years, and if he was being truthful, his tongue tended to be sharp when he was frustrated--but he never meant for Anakin to doubt Obi-Wan’s faith in him. 

Perhaps it was simply a moment of doubt, Obi-Wan was certainly familiar enough with those, for after a moment, Anakin began to outline a plan. 

Taking a deep breath, he started slowly. “If we can’t trust the Council not to act on the identity of the Sith, then maybe we just don’t tell them.” He looked around, waiting for them to argue. When none of them did, he shrugged. “He’s like a Zcyx.” 

“A what?” Ahsoka asked, breaking in. Anakin turned to her. 

“A zcyx. You don’t know what a—?” He shook his head. “Be glad you don’t know them, Snips. They’re an insect, native to Tatooine.” He glanced over at Obi-Wan. “Not good eating,” he added, and Obi-Wan shuddered. Anakin grinned, and Qui-Gon leaned in close. 

“Still, Obi-Wan?” he asked, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, gently shoving Qui-Gon away. Qui-Gon had done a lot to try and break Obi-Wan of his aversion to certain foods, but the only thing that had worked was getting Obi-Wan hungry enough to not care. It was a tactic that worked less and less as Obi-Wan grew out of puberty. 

From the look on Ahsoka’s face, she found Obi-Wan’s aversion to eating insects just as amusing; however, Obi-Wan had seen her turn her nose up at some of the things Anakin would eat, so Obi-Wan didn’t think she had any room to comment. 

“The zcyx is pretty indestructible. Most humans and humanoids can’t digest them anyhow, even if harvesting the meat was easy, and it isn’t. They fight like a wounded gundark, so catching them is nearly impossible.” Anakin looked around. “And that’s exactly my point. At the moment, the Sith is nearly indestructible, but as dangerous as he is now, it’s nothing compared to what he could unleash if provoked.” He spread his hands. “I don’t see a way to take him out _without_ provoking him though, so instead of focusing on that, we have to worry about mitigating the damage.” Anakin grinned, tapping his forehead, just next to his scar. “Set a trap and isolate him, so that when our trap is sprung, there’s nothing he can do.” 

It was a simple plan, with none of the details filled in, but simple did not mean ineffective. In Obi-Wan’s experience, the simpler the plan, the greater the chance for success. It could work. 

“Won’t he notice if his power suddenly starts to shrink?” Ahsoka asked, looking at each of them when they turned to her. She held her ground, unafraid to meet her Masters on an even playing field, and Obi-Wan couldn’t be more proud. From the look on Anakin’s face, neither could he. “Realistically, how long do we really have?” 

Good question. Obi-Wan looked to Anakin, and then Qui-Gon. 

“Not nearly as long as would be preferable,” Qui-Gon said, a faraway look in his eyes; Obi-Wan hated that look. Nothing good ever came from that look. That was the look that said the Chosen One would be trained, and damn the Council if they get in my way. “But I believe we have time enough, if we move quickly and carefully.” 

Obi-Wan snorted. “A hundred years, wouldn’t be time enough,” he muttered. If Palpatine was consistently on planet, and they had no reason to believe he’d be otherwise, then they had a matter of a few months, if not weeks. Or days. “And I admit I’m not comfortable letting him sit a moment longer than necessary, but I think you’re right, Anakin. He won’t be expecting us to match him at the long game.” 

“They never do,” Anakin said, a small smile on his face, and Obi-Wan found himself matching it for a moment. Anakin, and since he was being honest, Obi-Wan himself, took great pleasure in beating an opponent at their own game. Obi-Wan liked the symmetry. Anakin liked the vindication. “But I agree. It wouldn’t be the first time the Council played hard and loose with information,” Obi-Wan admitted, sending Anakin a soft apology through the Force when his eyes dropped. “There are details the Council does not yet need to know.” He rolled his eyes. “It’ll be hard enough to keep Mace and Yoda from rushing off to confront him, and,” Obi-Wan pointed a hard finger at Anakin, “I want you far away if and when they do.” 

“Me!” Anakin sat up. “I can help! I’m stronger than either of them—” 

“This is not about strength!” Obi-Wan snapped. “If I had my way, I’d keep all of you far away from any of this, on the other side of the galaxy if I had to.” 

“We can hardly be expected to leave this to others, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. “This may not be a mess of our own doing, but it falls to us to fix it; I, for one, would not wish to be seen as shirking my duty.” 

It struck Obi-Wan across the face. “Is that what you think?” he asked quietly, and Qui-Gon blinked, as if suddenly aware of how what he said could be taken, and paled rather satisfactorily.

“In all my years, have I ever hid from my duty?” Obi-Wan’s voice had dropped, deathly quiet, and the room buzzed around him. “Think long and hard, Qui-Gon Jinn, about my life and tell me again that you think me capable of _shirking my duty!_ ” 

His voice echoed against the walls, and he was distantly aware of the others’ alarm, but like the first stones of an avalanche that fall, the words were coming and he did not have the strength to stop them. 

“I have given everything to the Jedi! My life, my loves-- _I_ was the one ready to die as a Jedi before I was even a Padawan--when I thought I could _never be_ a Padawan! I was the the one who, again and again, sacrificed my freedom and safety to keep you and others safe. I was the one who was there for you when you could not be there for yourself!” 

The Force was swirling around them, not a storm, not yet, but threatening. Threatening. 

“ _I_ am not the one who spent years so wrapped in grief that I could not hear the Force when it was practically banging down my door. I was not the one who let their Padawan in a warzone after barely a standard year of training.” Here, Ahsoka let out a soft gasp, and would have moved if Anakin had not kept her back. Obi-Wan had enough left in him to be sorry that he was causing her discomfort, but his fury...

His rage...

“I was not the one who, after twelve years, was ready to abandon their Padawan for another just to piss off the Council. It doesn’t matter that I _was_ ready, Qui-Gon, that was a fucking shitty thing you did!” Even Anakin flinched at his wording, as mild as the invective was compared to when Anakin swore. 

“ I am not the one who _gave up_ at the end of all of this.” The Force, clear as a bell in his mind. “You didn’t have to face Maul alone, and you knew it.” Ringing, ringing. “You could have waited for me, but you didn’t and I _had to watch you die!_ ” 

Silence. His breathing, harsh in his chest. 

And then it was over. Anger leaving him quite suddenly, Obi-Wan slumped. When his voice came again, was barely more than a whisper.

"Did you ever think that maybe, for once in my life, I want something that's mine and mine alone? Something that I can keep?" Obi-Wan knew he looked desperate, wild--he must, because he’d never seen Ahsoka look so wide-eyed and Anakin was looking quite pale and Qui-Gon—

Qui-Gon looked like Obi-Wan had ripped his heart out as well, and Obi-Wan had to close his eyes.

"Please,” Obi-Wan begged. “Do not ask me to give you up again.” He sank back, looking around. “Any of you. Please.”

There was a terrible moment of utter stillness. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, as if he could make it all go away if he just didn’t look at it (but of course he couldn’t; he never could), and was thus nearly knocked off of his feet a moment later by 120 pounds of concerned Togruga. Staggering, Obi-Wan gently wrapped his arms around Ahsoka in return. She was warm, and solid in his arms; A grounding presence. Obi-Wan felt a strong surge of affection for his Grand Padawan, and thanked the Force yet again that she had found her way to them. 

“You couldn’t get rid of us if you tried, Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka said into his side, and Obi-Wan felt his heartache ease just enough to the guilt to rise. He looked up, and met Qui-Gon’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said after a long moment, “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Qui-Gon interrupted him. “No, you absolutely should have.” He shook his head. “I promised myself when I came back that I wouldn’t dictate your actions, Obi-Wan, but in this case, I’m going to have to insist that you not apologize for anything you just said. You were right.” 

Obi-Wan raised his chin. “I could have been nicer.” 

Qui-Gon’s brow twisted sardonically. “I could have deserved you being nicer, but I don’t.” 

Obi-Wan squeezed Ahsoka once more, letting her go. She stepped back, but not very far, and as if he had only been waiting, Obi-Wan soon found himself with Anakin wrapped firmly around his back. It was awkward, as hugs went, but Anakin was just tall enough, and just determined enough, that it was actually quite comfortable, even if Obi-Wan did feel a little bit like a puppet on a hook. Obi-Wan sent Anakin a reassuring wave of affection, patting his hand, and Anakin hooked his chin over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, sending back more wordless comfort and trust.

The Force quavered, and Obi-Wan knew that there was something happening here, something bigger than all of them. He wondered if this was what it was like to live through a shatterpoint, and almost wished Mace was here so that he could deal with with headache, too. 

“Honestly, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said, urging the other to believe him. “I made my peace with it long ago.” With a lot of help from Yoda and Bant and Garen, and not a little bit of learning from training Anakin as well. “I don’t know why I blew up like that.” 

“I do,” Anakin said, into the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. 

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin hesitated.

“Yes,” Anakin said, firmly, and stepped back. Obi-Wan turned to look at him, and could almost feel the Force humming some dark march. “And I need to tell you about it, all about it, but I think you and Qui-Gon need to finish this first. Find me after, please. This...shouldn't wait for Coruscant.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, perplexed, and wondered if Anakin was finally going to speak of his marriage to Padme. He couldn’t think of what else it could be. It should rankle that Anakin was trying to give him marital advice, but, well. It’s possible Obi-Wan needed it. 

Anakin ushered Ahsoka out of the room, but not before Ahsoka sent him another concerned look. Obi-Wan answered it with his best smile, but Ahsoka didn’t seem convinced before the door closed between them. 

At last, Obi-Wan was alone with Qui-Gon. 

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest. To think that, just this morning he’d been fantasizing about getting Qui-Gon alone. Now, sex was the farthest thing from his mind (well, maybe not the farthest thing, but the images that passed through his mind certainly weren’t _usual_. Not for him. Not in the daylight).

So focused was Obi-Wan on the images playing through his mind, that he was slow to react when Qui-Gon moved, standing from his seat with the ease and speed as befitting a master of Ataru--but instead of an attack, Obi-Wan found himself enveloped, wrapped tightly in Qui-Gon’s arms. 

It was overpowering, the smell of him, the warmth filling his senses, but Obi-Wan was still slow to relax. Qui-Gon pressed closer, Obi-Wan felt surrounded as if by his Master’s cloak, and when Qui-Gon tucked Obi-Wan’s head under his chin and they were pressed together all along their bodies--only then did Obi-Wan begin to ease. 

They stood there for a long time before Qui-Gon began to speak quietly into Obi-Wan’s hair. “On our first night together, I said that I had learned much--that I was a better man now, then I was then--” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Today, I have proved myself wrong, and I am so very sorry, My Obi-Wan. I did not mean to hurt with my words, but hurt I have, and I am _sorry._ ” 

As he spoke Qui-Gon rocked gently back and forth, and the swaying did as much to ease Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon’s heat, and he found himself drifting a bit on his feet. “I know you are,” Obi-Wan said. “To change the patterns of a lifetime; it is a hard task, and not one of which many are capable.” 

“Yet, I must be,” Qui-Gon countered, adjusting his arms and pulling Obi-Wan even closer. “For I would live my life a thousand times over, if it meant never putting that look on your face again.” 

Obi-Wan smiled softly. “Then you must forgive yourself and move on. We cannot change if we are not allowed to learn from our mistakes.” He pulled away enough to look at Qui-Gon’s face. “I meant what I said; I forgave you long ago. I forgive you still.” 

Qui-Gon’s eyes searched Obi-Wan’s, looking for something, and Obi-Wan--Obi-Wan gave him everything. 

“I do not deserve you,” Qui-Gon said, but before Obi-Wan could ask what that could possibly mean, Qui-Gon leaned down and captured Obi-Wan’s mouth in a fierce kiss. Pressed close as they were, it was instinct for Obi-Wan to let himself go, to let Qui-Gon take his share of the burden and support him as their kiss turned fierce. His teeth caught on Qui-Gon’s lips, dragging and sharp between panted breaths, and Obi-Wan was not surprised to find himself backed against the table. 

Breaking the kiss, Obi-Wan laughed breathlessly as Qui-Gon lifted him enough to sit on the edge of the table. “You know, sex doesn’t fix everything,” he said dryly, and then his eyes widened as Qui-Gon sank easily to his knees, his large hands braced on Obi-Wan’s knees. Qui-Gon’s thumbs circled the inside of his thigh, and Obi-Wan felt his racing thoughts quiet as his focus narrowed. 

“I am aware, my love,” Qui-Gon said, and grinned up at him, wicked. “But it is nice.” 

“Nice, yes,” Obi-Wan said, and placed his hand on Qui-Gon’s cheek. There were shadows in Qui-Gon’s eyes that Obi-Wan didn’t like to see; he never could stand when those he loved were hurt, even if Qui-Gon did bring it upon himself. “But not necessary.” 

Qui-Gon looked almost frustrated when he kissed Obi-Wan’s palm. “I disagree,” Qui-Gon said. “Let me do this for you, love,” he said, leaning in to kiss Obi-Wan’s knee, next to his thumb. “I can not undo the past, and I know this does not fix anything, but it would make you feel good, and that is something I _can_ do.” He kissed Obi-Wan’s thigh, farther up, farther in, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s. “I have caused you great hurt; let me bring you greater pleasure.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. How could he say no to that? 

“Yes,” he said, throat dry. He coughed, tried again. “Yes, darling.” 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, as if in benediction, and leaned in further still. His breath ghosted hot over Obi-Wan’s inner thigh, against his cock, and Obi-Wan could only watch with wide eyes as Qui-Gon gently parted the folds of his tabards, lifting his shirt. Strong fingers made short work of the fasteners on his trousers, peeling them away until Qui-Gon could reach inside and pull Obi-Wan’s cock free. 

Qui-Gon looked up once more, that damnable smirk on his face, before he opened his mouth and took Obi-Wan inside. 

Tight, wet heat, and Obi-Wan hissed, lifting one hand and gripping the back of Qui-Gon’s head, his fingers tangling in long hair as Qui-Gon gently bobbed his head. His tongue ran along the crown, seeking and finding the spots that would bring Obi-Wan the greatest pleasure, and it sparked behind his eyes. 

Qui-Gon pulled off, though Obi-Wan didn’t move his hand, and Obi-Wan watched, dazed, as Qui-Gon quickly licked his palm and encircled the base of Obi-Wan’s cock. He squeezed, gently, as he stroked, and Obi-Wan felt his heart pounding in his ears. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t look away. Only in the deepest moments of the night did Obi-Wan let himself think of his darker fantasies; of taking what he wanted for the galaxy to see (he wanted much, and eyes were always on him). 

To do this here, in a _conference room_ \--For fuck’s sake, Obi-Wan was still mostly _dressed_ , and Qui-Gon—

His lovely, stubborn, infuriating and enrapturing lover—

Was on his knees before him, mouth red and open as he took Obi-Wan in once more, his lips down to meet his own fingers. Slowly, Qui-Gon began to move his hand in counterpoint to his mouth, establishing an easy rhythm that Obi-Wan could never _quite_ pin down, could never fully anticipate--until Obi-Wan gave it all up and stopped thinking until Qui-Gon, quite suddenly, took him all the way inside in one smooth motion. 

Tightening his fist, Obi-Wan breathed out sharply when Qui-Gon made a high, tight noise in the back of his throat and tried to push his face onto Obi-Wan’s cock. He was flushed red, eyes closed now, his mouth stretched so _wide_. 

“Look at you,” Obi-Wan breathed. “You’re so hungry for it, aren’t you.” Helicked his lips, and tugged, pulling Qui-Gon back, and _fuck_ Qui-Gon strained against him, eager to fuck his mouth onto Obi-Wan’s cock. 

“Why should I give you what you want?” 

Qui-Gon’s eyes shot open, impossibly dark and pleading. Obi-Wan shook his fist gently, rocking Qui-Gon’s head with him. 

“Tell me.” It was a demand, for all that it was softly said, and not one that Qui-Gon could ignore. 

“Please,” Qui-Gon said, finding his voice at last, and Obi-Wan shivered. Qui-Gon sounded wrecked, hoarse and needy. “Please, let me suck you. Let me...” 

Obi-Wan tightened his fingers, cutting off Qui-Gon’s words. “Why. Should. I?” 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. “Because you deserve to be loved, and I want you to feel good. I could make you feel so good. Please, let me suck you!”

Obi-Wan felt dizzy. “No,” he said, faintly. “I have a better idea.” 

Carefully, he eased himself off of the table, still holding onto Qui-Gon and not letting him move away. Obi-Wan wanted him right where he was. With his other hand, he cupped Qui-Gon’s cheek, his thumb running across Qui-Gon’s lips. “Open.” 

If anything, Qui-Gon’s eyes darkened further, his skin flushing even as his mouth dropped open, still so eager, as Obi-Wan slowly fed him his cock. “Yes,” Obi-Wan hissed as he slid down into the impossibly tight passage of Qui-Gon’s throat and Qui-Gon swallowed around him. “ _Yes!”_ and Obi-Wan thrust. 

Qui-Gon took everything Obi-Wan could give, his face so serene he could have been meditating, if not for the obscene stretch of his red mouth, or the thin stream of spit and precome that trickled from the corner of his mouth. Obi-Wan swiped his thumb through it, spreading it along Qui-Gon’s jaw, down his neck to press his finger against the skin there, to feel himself thrusting from the outside. 

“Oh, _Fuck_ ” Obi-Wan cried, his orgasm catching him by surprise, shaking him apart as he thrust in and stayed, clutching tightly to Qui-Gon’s head. Qui-Gon had as tight a hold on Obi-Wan, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise as he held Obi-Wan close and swallowed again and again until Obi-Wan pushed himself back with a gasp. 

Catching himself against the table, Obi-Wan could only stand there for a moment, stunned by what they had done, what he had allowed himself to do--but Qui-Gon simply stayed where he was on his knees, his expression open and a bit awestruck, even as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was red, his eyes a bit watery--he looked a bit drunk, to be honest. 

Yet, when Obi-Wan reached out a hand, Qui-Gon was right there, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s thighs, pressing his face into Obi-Wan’s stomach. Obi-Wan settled his hands on Qui-Gon’s shoulders, and then one to his hair, smoothing out the damage his fist had done. 

The air between them was clear, more clear than Obi-Wan had expected, though it still smelled of—

Behind them, the door slid open, and Obi-Wan felt himself stiffen, his mind turning to static. Distantly, he processed the heavy tread of armored boots, the sudden silence that meant the brother had stopped short, and the familiar presence that identified this particular brother as Rex. 

Smoothly, Qui-Gon stood from his knees, smoothing down the front of his tunics as he did and sparing a moment to smooth a hand down Obi-Wan’s front as he did, before stepping away. A sudden rush of cold told Obi-Wan that he was still very much exposed, his pants undone, but with his back to the door, there was no way for Rex to see. 

“Can I help you, Captain?” Qui-Gon asked, and Obi-Wan had to close his eyes again. That voice, rough and used, and Obi-Wan shivered. 

“Uh,” Rex began, which was unlike Rex. Which meant that Rex knew exactly what he had walked in on. 

Obi-Wan would have to talk to Rex after Rex had walked in on Obi-Wan getting—getting—

The static returned, muffled this time, so Obi-Wan could hear everything Rex said as he, as surreptitiously as possible, tucked himself away and righted his clothing. 

“General Skywalker sent me,” Rex was saying, and then held out a datapad. 

It was odd enough that the static stopped, and Obi-Wan finally looked over at Qui-Gon and Rex.

Rex was flushed a bit, though not as much as Obi-Wan knew _he_ was, so that wasn’t entirely fair, and he was a bit unsteady on his feet. No, not unsteady--shifting. He was shifting on his feet, and his eyes didn’t know where to rest. They would dart from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon and back, resting ultimately somewhere over Obi-Wan’s left shoulder. 

A glance at Qui-Gon was all Obi-Wan needed to tell him why Rex wasn’t looking at _him_ instead. Qui-Gon’s hair and beard were mussed, his face red, not from embarrassment but from exertions, the hair at his temples damp with sweat. His breathing was still not quite even and—

Oh. 

Qui-Gon was still very hard, and standing there as if he hadn’t noticed--but it would be impossible for Rex not to notice. Qui-Gon was hardly small, but when Obi-Wan cleared his throat, Qui-Gon did, at least, take a seat to make it less obvious. 

His head clearing, Obi-Wan took the datapad, dismissing Rex. Rex took the out, nearly running from the room. 

Obi-Wan looked down to unlock the datapad. It appeared to be an update on locations for several battalions and--yes. Anakin had highlighted who on the Council would be actively on planet. That would be helpful. Qui-Gon hummed. 

“He fancies you,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan paused, halfway through typing a message to Anakin, thanking him but also reminding him to use prudence in the future or Obi-Wan would remember not to shield the next time he and Qui-Gon had sex. 

“Pardon?”

“Captain Rex,” Qui-Gon said. “He fancies you. Finds you attractive. Wants to—”

“That’s enough out of you,” Obi-Wan cut him off. 

“All I’m saying is—”

“Shh,” Obi-Wan cut in. “If you want me to help you take care of that,” he nodded towards Qui-Gon’s lap. “You’ll be quiet.” 

“Yes, sir.”


	10. Return to Bactadome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [kettish](kettish.tumblr.com)
> 
> Many thanks to [hobbitystmarymorstan](hobbitystmarymorstan.tumblr.com) and [punsbulletsandpointythings](punsbulletsandpointythings.tumblr.com) for their wonderful beta work!

In the end, Obi-Wan never actually found the time to speak with Rex alone. He wasn’t quite sure that the man was avoiding him in an effort to save them both some embarrassment--but if he was being honest with himself, and Obi-Wan found honesty much easier these days, he was willing to let things lie. Rex had proven that he could remain professional despite personal unease. Hopefully, this little incident could be quietly left behind them.

Obi-Wan had bigger things to worry about, after all.

Obi-Wan knocked on the door to Anakin’s quarters, and was unsurprised when the door opened almost before he had finished his knock. Anakin’s awareness of Obi-Wan had always been extra keen after all, and by the time Anakin had risen to senior Padawan, they had rarely needed to announce their presence to one another any longer.

Nor was it surprising to see Anakin sitting at his desk, dressed in a grease-stained undertunic, (at the Temple, he tended to work shirtless to save on laundry, but despite the passing of years, he’d never lost his desert blood and quickly grew cold in space), tinkering with the servos in his wrist. Machines always managed to help Anakin calm down and focus, and working on himself gave that extra incentive to hold his temper. 

Obi-Wan frowned. Whatever this was, it was clearly serious. 

“Problem?” Obi-Wan asked, nodding to Anakin’s arm. 

Anakin shrugged, exchanging the tool in his hand for one floating beside him, suspended in the Force. “Karkin’ Genosis dust is so fine, it gets into everything,” he muttered. 

Obi-Wan paused. “Is it serious?” he asked, but Anakin shook his head. 

“Nothing a little love won’t fix,” Anakin said, looking up to flash a crooked grin. “It’s not like Tatooine dust: that’s far more coarse, and does a lot more damage.” 

Nodding, Obi-Wan’s lips twisted a bit. “I remember,” he said, thinking of his first visit to the desert world, and the way he had been finding sand in the corners of his clothing (all of his clothes, somehow) for months. Shaking it off, he settled to wait and watch Anakin work. 

Silence grew between them, the comfortable quiet of familiar domesticity, and Obi-Wan could feel himself relax, though he didn’t realize how relaxed until he had to stifle a yawn. Rousing himself, he waited until Anakin put down his tool to choose another, then asked: “You wanted to tell me something?” 

Anakin stilled, his grip on the tiny driver tightening for a moment as his emotions flashed, and Obi-Wan frowned. That seemed like...anger. Regret. 

Fear. 

_This was no wedding talk,_ Obi-Wan realized, and sat up straighter, keeping his presence open and welcoming. 

“I should have told you this a lot sooner,” Anakin began. “Padme said I should, and she was right, I _know_ she was right. I knew _then_ , but...” he trailed off, shaking his head, staring off, unseeing for a long, tense moment. When he spoke again, his voice was distant, as if speaking was a struggle. “Master, do you remember the dreams I had of my mother?” 

Obi-Wan felt cold shudder through him. Anakin had been plagued by nightmares of his mother dying for _weeks_ before Obi-Wan had stumbled across Kamino. Obi-Wan, his own cycles of prescience weighing heavily upon his mind, had urged inaction, as he had himself been urged in his past, lest the dreams become prophecies fulfilled. He had ached, watching his Padawan struggle to learn that lesson, questioning the entire time if it was a lesson that Anakin _needed_ to learn. In the end, he had brought his indecision to Master Yoda, and while his Grandmaster’s assurance that inaction was the correct path had calmed him at the time, hindsight had proved far more clear. 

“I remember,” Obi-Wan said at last, his voice low, weighted with his lingering guilt. 

Anakin looked up at last, as if surprised to hear Obi-Wan’s tone, and Obi-Wan felt compelled to speak. 

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” he said, reaching out his hand. Anakin took it without hesitation, holding tightly. “I should have listened--to you, and to my own better judgement. My indecision caused a delay that had terrible results.” 

But Anakin was already shaking his head. “No, Master,” he said, as if he was still that Padawan, and sometimes Obi-Wan couldn’t help but see it, a shadowed overlay of reality. But it never lasted, and always the Knight Anakin had become shone through. 

“Obi-Wan--it’s not your fault. You shouldn’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you,” Anakin paused, and sighed. “Anymore.” He chewed his lip, and Obi-Wan tightened his grip, lest Anakin try to pull away again. 

Anakin closed his eyes, visibly steeling himself. “I told you that I got there too late to save her,” he said, haltingly. “What I never told you was what happened after.” 

The room seemed suddenly far away, dread beating that terrible march in his ears, as Anakin slowly, painfully, laid himself bare.

“I don’t remember much of...it. Just...flashes. Moments. That...hungry, burning rage.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, as if that would protect his heart from those words. He knew that rage, could feel his lip curl every time he smelled industrial plasma. 

He knew the power that came from that rage, giving him the speed he needed, the strength he needed to finally kill the Sith that had ended his Master’s life, taking something vital of Obi-Wan’s with it. 

Even now, though he had seen Qui-Gon alive and well not minutes ago, could still feel Qui-Gon’s hands on his skin, his presence in his mind--Obi-Wan burned cold with the depth of his hate for Maul.

And, as always, it scared him, leaving him shaken and uncertain.

“I am aware of it,” Obi-Wan said, at last, and Anakin paused. 

“You?” He asked, and Obi-Wan smiled tightly. Anakin was coming clean. Perhaps it was time for Obi-Wan to do the same. 

“It was not simply luck or skill that allowed me to defeat Maul, all these years ago,” Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice low and even, and Anakin leaned in to listen. “I know the rage, and the destruction it leaves in its path.” He looked up, meeting Anakin eyes. His brother’s blue was dark with shadowed pain, and Obi-Wan reached out with his other hand to offer comfort, smoothing over his ridiculous curls. “But what I learned I have carried with me; the Dark is quick power, but the cost...” He shook his head. “It is not worth it.” 

He searched Anakin’s eyes, projecting his sincerity and, more, his care, through their bond, and felt something heavy break free and dissipate like morning fog--a small break for sunshine, but it was something. 

It was something. 

“And a single slip is not the end,” Obi-Wan continued, and brought their foreheads together, a gesture he had learned in the creche that meant comfort and connection and care all at once. “You are one of the brightest Knights in the Order, Anakin, despite what happened on Tatooine.”

Anakin tensed, his hands tightening where he gripped Obi-Wan, but it never crossed the threshold to pain. That, more than anything else, gave Obi-Wan some small comfort. Perhaps he could reassure Anakin further. 

Raising his head, Obi-Wan’s mouth pulled tight in thought. “In fact,” he said, “you may be the brighter for it, knowing that darkness can be survived.” Anakin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried to speak again, but closed his mouth, still silent. Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “I know what that sounds like, yet I mean it. But—” Obi-Wan shook Anakin gently in emphasis. “This means no more running, Ani. Not for you....nor for me.” he smiled. “Together, we will serve the future.”

Anakin’s face was open, and as Obi-Wan watched, tears began to freely run down his cheek in fat droplets, though Anakin made no move to wipe them away. Tucking the end of his sleeve over his fingers, Obi-Wan gently wiped Anakin’s face dry, though it took several moments for the tears to slow and stop. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember when Anakin had cried last; Obi-Wan had hoped that Anakin wasn’t following Obi-Wan’s poor example, but apparently that hadn’t been the case. 

At last, Anakin reached up and covered Obi-Wan’s hand with his own. “I expected yelling,” he said. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Have I ever yelled when it was this important?” Anakin shook his head, taking a deep, steadying breath. He looked--well, exhausted, and he had clearly been crying, but he was brighter. Less burdened. 

_Good._ Obi-Wan hid a smirk, stepping back and sitting on the edge of Anakin’s desk, careful not to disturb any of the tools or datapads or other bric-a-brac. “Your secret affair with our lovely Padme, however--I might still yell about that.”

Freezing, Anakin’s eyes grew wide, and he started to laugh, nervous and far too loud. “What? What affair? I’m not--she’s--why do you say that?” he babbled, his voice getting uncomfortably high at the end, and if Obi-Wan had any hopes left of Anakin being suited for diplomatic work, this just crushed it. 

Just who did Anakin think he had fooled, anyway? 

“I said to you before, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, tone still light and teasing. “I will support you, no matter your decision. You must do what you feel is right.” 

“That’s why I married her,” Anakin blurted, and stopped, hand covering his mouth. Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, silently encouraging, and Anakin sighed. “Of course you knew that already. You’re going to have to come to dinner, you know. Not only am I down five credits, she said that if she won, you’d have to come.” 

Obi-Wan blinked, and nodded. “I’d be delighted,” he said, and meant it honestly. Padme was always good company, and it would be nice to spend time with Anakin without that subterfuge between them. “Though you should know better than to bet against her.”

Anakin snorted in agreement. “Trust me, lesson learned. I’ll tell her you’re coming.” He reached out, gently poking him, making Obi-Wan rock back gently. Anakin sighed. “You know, she told me to tell you, all along. She’s always...” he trailed off. “She was right about that, too.” He shook his head. “She’s so much smarter than I am, Obi-Wan.” Where there may once have been resentment, or despair, or simply longing, was instead an awed acknowledgement of truth. 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Obi-Wan protested gently. “You’re not exactly an idiot, Anakin.” 

“I know that,” Anakin said, and waved his mechanical arm for emphasis. It was a thing of beauty, melding function and design, and a testament to a brilliant mind in its own right. “But I’m not on her level, either. Or yours, not when it comes to the big, important stuff.” A beat passed, and Anakin’s smile turned wan. “I’m not always sure of what right is, anymore. Not since...” he trailed off.

Obi-Wan nodded. “It’s always hardest to see when Darkness is everywhere.” Obi-Wan patted Anakin’s arm. “We will figure it out, you and me, Council be damned.” 

Anakin looked so surprised and grateful, it made Obi-Wan’s heart ache to think that he had, in his ignorance, be so neglectful of his dear Anakin. His family. His brother. 

Somehow, Obi-Wan was surprised when Anakin reached out and pulled him into a grateful hug. “I’m glad Qui-Gon came back,” he said, quietly into Obi-Wan’s ear. “I think he’s good for you.” 

Obi-Wan ducked his head. “I think you might be right about that.” 

***

The next morning, they arrived at Coruscant.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, closing out of the reports on his datapad. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be in orbit, but I would suspect we shall be here for several days. Begin cycling the men through shore leave. They’ve certainly earned it.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan stopped before he reached the door, turning to face his Commander.

“And Cody?” he waited for Cody to face him. “Put yourself at the top of that list. That’s an order.”

“I will when you will, sir,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes fondly as he walked from the bridge. When the war was over, Obi-Wan hoped Cody would accept a posting close by the Temple. He would miss the man terribly, if not.

Obi-Wan stepped into the turbolift and sank against the back wall as the door closed, covering his face with both hands and letting out an expressive sigh as he was carried through the ship.

Despite his and Qui-Gon’s late night activities, and the emotional hangover from his conversation with Anakin the night before, Obi-Wan was better rested than he had been since…

Well, since before the damn war began.

Unfortunately, that meant that he was no longer too tired to worry about the reactions of the Council when he landed and Qui-Gon made himself known to them. He remembered too well how much Qui-Gon made sport of baiting the council, and he saw now how free Qui-Gon could be with open affection.

He didn’t think Qui-Gon would flirt with Obi-Wan just to thumb his nose at the Council—at the very least, Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon would at least mean the flirting, but that didn’t actually ease the anxiety he felt.

An anxiety that continued even when Qui-Gon sent him a concerned, wordless query and a wave of cool reassurance.

_I’m fine,_ Obi-Wan sent back. _This is normal, actually._

There was a pause as the doors opened and Obi-Wan stepped out into the hallway towards the forward hangar.

_Obi-Wan,_ Qui-Gon sent, and hesitated. Obi-Wan sighed aloud.

_I know. “Don’t focus on my anxiety.” And I don’t! I dare you to see me act on it in the Council chamber—but not focusing on it allows me to function—it doesn’t remove the symptom._

Obi-Wan kept his features schooled and even as he walked, smiling a little at the trio of gold-striped troopers that passed him by. Qui-Gon’s mental silence was telling, especially since his presence hadn’t retreated, but Obi-Wan wasn’t going to give him anything to go on.

Anakin had tried, bless him, during his years as a Padawan, to ease Obi-Wan’s anxious episodes, but he soon learned, as Obi-Wan had, that the feelings would come, warranted or no, and now mostly accepted that Obi-Wan could handle it.

Also, that discussing it in the moment always made it worse. 

The only cure he had found, was taking action, and when he turned the next corner and entered the hanger, seeing the transport that would take their party down to land at the Temple, he could feel some of his anxiety fade away. They would be on their way, soon, and it would be out of Obi-Wan’s hands. 

As the last to arrive, Obi-Wan nodded at the techs hovering about the ship, letting them know they were ready as he strode up the ramp. Sure enough, they were all there: Qui-Gon was already seated next to Rex, and Obi-Wan mentally shook his head, though Rex didn’t appear to be too distressed. Still, Obi-Wan knew how much those uniform helmets could hide, and wouldn’t be surprised if Rex chose to keep his on, even when not required by regulations. 

Anakin was...not piloting the shuttle, instead sitting strapped into his seat, head back and eyes closed, asleep. Obi-Wan raised an eye at Ahsoka in question--Anakin always flew when he could--but she simply shrugged. She didn’t know either. 

A moment later, another boarded, the ramp finally closing behind them, and Obi-Wan turned to find Cody standing there, already pulling his helmet off. His expression was as taciturn as ever, but it was the type of blank face that meant Cody was laughing at Obi-Wan. 

“Oh, very well,” Obi-Wan said. “Unless the Council decrees otherwise, we’ll take our leave immediately after. Does that make you happy?”

“Ecstatic, sir.” 

Obi-Wan very purposefully did not look at Qui-Gon as they traveled down planetside. His already tenuous composure didn’t need to see the look that was bound to be on his face. He couldn’t stop his ears from heating when Qui-Gon began sending him nebulous...suggestions... about what they could do with that time. 

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan let himself watch. What the hell, why not? It would be a welcome distraction from the trip itself.

* * *

The Council was waiting for them on the landing pad--those members who were currently on Coruscant, anyway. There weren’t many. Obi-Wan saw Eeth Koth and Adi Galia, Mace, and, of course, Yoda. It was a risk, gathering the Council in open air. Whenever the wisest of the Order gathered, there was always the risk of spectacular media attention--attention that Obi-Wan had stressed they could ill afford. 

Still. Nothing for it, now. At least, with most of the Council off planet, it was less likely to be a recognized event. 

Obi-Wan nodded, and a trooper--one of Anakin’s striped in blue--executed a quick salute and pressed the control for the hatch. Only when the ramp was completely down did Obi-Wan step forward. 

He led the procession, cloaked for travel, as they all were. Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan in the protected position--or prisoner, if things went terribly wrong--followed by Anakin and Ahsoka, then Cody and Rex.

Obi-Wan was grateful of their support; already he could clearly feel the confusion of the Council members, the beginnings of realization from Mace, and the pained horror from Yoda. 

It was enough to make Obi-Wan halt in his steps, the others stopping with him. 

All but Qui-Gon, who continued on as if never stopped, brushing against Obi-Wan as he passed, leaving behind a lingering comfort and assurance. 

Still, Obi-Wan reached out through their bond, only to be gently rebuffed once more. 

“Seven Devils in Seven Hells,” Mace said, low, gaining him a look from Adi as Qui-Gon knelt before Yoda, feet tucked underneath him. He waited, hood still raised, but at that distance, Yoda would still be easily able to see his face. 

Yoda reached out with a trembling claw, halting inches from Qui-Gon’s face. 

“Not possible, it is,” he said, voice creaking like old wood, weighted with the stress of years. 

“All things are possible in the Force,” Qui-Gon returned, quietly, and lifted his own hand to hover just below Yoda’s 

Adi gasped aloud, and Eeth and Mace were both wide-eyed, and somehow that was enough to get Obi-Wan moving once more. 

Neatly, he stepped up to stand next to Qui-Gon, his hand settling lightly on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “I believe, Masters, that it would be best if we were to reconvene in Chambers--away from possible prying eyes.” He raised an eyebrow. “It is a matter for the Council alone, is it not?” he asked, gently reminding. 

No one spoke for a moment, but Mace rallied quickly enough. “Of course,” he said, and looked up to nod at Anakin and the rest. 

Qui-Gon let his hand fall away, standing more smoothly than was entirely fair, considering the way Obi-Wan still ached from the night before. He turned to Obi-Wan, and only after a moment did Obi-Wan realize that he was waiting for him. It was still too damned easy to fall back into Padawan habits, even after a week to adjust. 

Perhaps it was the location, he mused as he took his place next to Yoda in the slow procession back inside the temple. Anakin and Ahsoka fell in behind Depa and Eeth, and Cody and Rex continued to bring up the rear.

The Jedi quickly grew used to odd sights in the hallways of the Coruscant Temple--as the main temple, Jedi with all sorts of duties and responsibilities were often caught in the middle of awkward circumstances--Force knows Obi-Wan himself had been caught in the middle of many of them. Luckily, a Knight’s connection to the Force and habitual serenity simply added to the lack of disruption in the halls. 

It was yet another area where Qui-Gon had defied tradition, and had delighted in shocking some of the more staid members of the Order whenever possible. It seemed death had not diminished that ability, and though their cloaked travel should have passed unremarked upon, Obi-Wan was not actually surprised to see them turning heads. 

A bubble of wicked amusement grew behind him, and Obi-Wan pressed his lips together against a smile. _”You’re enjoying this far too much,”_ he sent, teasing. 

_”Nonsense! I’m enjoying this the perfect amount.”_

But a sober note entered his voice as he continued, _”I knew we were at war, but...I wasn’t expecting it to be so empty.”_ Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh. Qui-Gon was far from wrong, and it was nothing Obi-Wan hadn’t thought himself, and fretted over, when he found himself on Coruscant. They needed to end this war, fast, or the Order might never recover. 

_”All the more reason to lighten the load of those here,”_ Qui-Gon sent, and Obi-Wan wondered if his thoughts had leaked over after all. _”And what better way than to show that death has not been the end of at least one of us?”_

There was a pause, and Obi-Wan barely resisted rolling his eyes. _”Letting go of death is hard enough when it’s relatively rare. It’s something else when we and those in our care are dying in droves.”_ he countered. _”They are just as likely to be angry that it is you, and not one they were closer to.”_

_”Perhaps,”_ was all Qui-Gon sent back, but after a moment, Obi-Wan felt a small wave of affection and devotion, and while it wasn’t quite contrition, Obi-Wan couldn’t honestly be angry with Qui-Gon any longer. He had, after all, gotten his Master back. To be anything other than thankful seemed ungrateful. 

By the time they reached the Chamber, Jedi were blatantly making way, as if for a procession, and Obi-Wan struggled to suppress the memory of the last procession where Qui-Gon was a step behind, long ago on Naboo. 

The Council doors closed behind them, nearly sealing them inside, and quiet peace fell like a cloak about their shoulders, the natural sunlight streaming through the large windows lighting the room with the soft gold of mid-afternoon. 

Out of habit, Obi-Wan almost took his seat, but at the last, he stopped, choosing to stand with Qui-Gon. He was responsible for presenting Qui-Gon to the Council, after all, but, more to the point, it sent a subtle message to those willing to see it. 

Obi-Wan waited to hear the loud thud of the doors closing before he removed his hood. From the corner of his eye, he could see Qui-Gon do the same, always in synch, always in tune, and they folded their hands into their sleeves to wait. 

United.


	11. Pineapple's Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Kettish
> 
> many thanks to punsbulletsandpointythings for being an amazing beta!

Yoda no longer stared, his focus instead on the floor, and Mace sat back in his chair, hand rubbing over his mouth. They weren’t the only members of the Council on Coruscant.Kit Fisto looked up from the datapad he was studying, and nearly dropping it in surprise. He had been a newer Knight when Obi-Wan was a Padawan, and had only met Qui-Gon when he had seen Obi-Wan’s friend, Bant, to her Knighthood. Still, he was one of the few to offer Obi-Wan personal condolences after the Battle of Naboo, and had helped to guide Obi-Wan with Anakin’s training in the early days. Obi-Wan always thought it had been due to Obi-Wan’s friendship with Bant, but perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps, he might even be sympathetic to their cause. Obi-Wan made a mental note to speak with him, privately. 

One by one, the others flickered in. Obi-Wan recognized Shaak Ti by the muffled oath she gave — unlike her, when in the Council chambers and not in private. The speech patterns of the clones might just be rubbing off on her, Obi-Wan thought with some amusement. Still, her voice was unmistakable. He turned away from watching Mace and Yoda only when Plo’s image began to laugh. 

“I regret, now, that my duties took me from Coruscant so soon,” he said, the distortion of his mask highlighted by the hologram’s reception. It was nearly impossible to read his expression, as both his mouth and eyes were covered, but he still conveyed the impression of grinning broadly. “It would seem not even death can keep you from causing headaches for this Council, my old friend.” 

“Not forever, anyway,” Qui-Gon replied, smiling slightly. “Not yet.” 

Well, that certainly got the Council muttering. Obi-Wan could almost _hear_ the frown on Master Tiin’s face, and definitely _could_ hear the muttering from Master Rancisis. That, too, was deeply familiar, and he felt Qui-Gon’s amusement at Obi-Wan’s brief foray into nostalgia. 

“But _how?_ ” Mace forced out, finally able to speak. He looked tired, aged far more than his years, and wan in a way that had little to do with the headache that Obi-Wan knew pained him. Obi-Wan felt a quick stab of guilt for the last few weeks. What right had he to relax? To let himself be distracted from the horrors of a galaxy at war when they were all of them over-stretched and running on luck and hope. 

When this war wasn’t killing them quickly, it was killing them slowly. 

Qui-Gon pulled himself up further, and Obi-Wan felt a comforting tendril of the Force, like a hand on the small of his back, shoring him up and pulling him from his dark thoughts. Space travel was hardly relaxing, and that Obi-Wan had found as much as a respite as he had said more about how poorly he had been, rather than how much he had gained. 

Qui-Gon’s face was set in a rather accurate image of the statue that lived in the Hall of the Fallen. It wasn’t a _complete_ inaccuracy, after all. He spoke, his voice pitched deep and carrying: a master lecturing. “In the Force, all things are—”

“Don’t give me that poodoo, Qui-Gon,” Mace interrupted, growling. “Just answer the damned question.” He raised his hand to his head, rubbing at the vein in his left temple, his eyes narrowed. When Qui-Gon opened his mouth, Obi-Wan stepped in. 

“It began on my last night planetside,” Obi-Wan said, his quiet voice still reaching the far corners of the room, drawing attention to him. “The locals had a legend, a belief that the dead could return if certain conditions were met. I admit,” he spread his hands. “I was skeptical, thinking the legends more wishful thinking, but...” He trailed off, peeking at Qui-Gon as he refolded his arms. “It would appear those conditions were met.” Qui-Gon’s eyes twinkled at him, and Obi-Wan felt a flush of heat on the back of his neck. 

“Are we certain that this is really Qui-Gon Jinn?” Master Tiin demanded. “Feels like a Sith trick to me!” 

“His presence isn’t Dark,” Adi countered. “At least” she added with a cheeky grin, “No darker than Qui-Gon ever was. Far lighter, in fact.” 

_Darker_ wasn’t exactly the word that Obi-Wan would have chosen. Worried, maybe. Hurt. Fractured. Grieving. All emotions that might lead to Darkness, true Darkness, but Qui-Gon had never lost that core of light that Obi-Wan had followed like a beacon. Qui-Gon was _happier_ , however. Brighter. 

“Death has a way of giving one perspective on life,” Qui-Gon said, quietly, capturing the attention of the room once more. “It is far easier to let go of past hurts, to see past the limitations of our perspectives and to fully embrace the light.” 

Plo was nodding, as was Adi and, surprisingly, Ki-Adi Mundi, as if Qui-Gon was confirming a long held belief. Kit was watching them intently, his visage impassive, but before Obi-Wan could parse his reaction, Yoda tapped his gimmer stick on the floor before his chair. The room fell silent.

“When we die, one with the Force, we become,” Yoda said, and Obi-Wan looked at him with some concern. He sounded _shattered_. “This, we are all taught. This, we all know. Ourselves, we give up gladly.” His claw shook as he lifted his cane, pointing at Qui-Gon. “Why not you?” 

Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment, meeting Yoda’s gaze. His face was passive, but neither hard nor blank. “You know why,” he said, quietly, and Obi-Wan saw the horror flash across Yoda’s face, so quickly suppressed that the emotion barely rippled in the Force around them. 

Mace turned to him, surprised, but before he could do more than look, Yoda straightened in his chair. 

“Qui-Gon, he is,” Yoda said, stiffly. “Returned to us, he has, in a time of great need.” 

Rumblings, again. The Republic had erupted into a bloody and costly civil war: how greater could their need be?

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed, and then, as if discussing the weather: “There is a Sith Lord on Coruscant.” 

The Council exploded into frantic discussion, fear and denial, and Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon. Dramatics were not the way they had discussed introducing this topic. “Must you always set a loth-cat among the pigeons?” 

Qui-Gon just smiled. 

***

Ahsoka nearly covered her ears after Qui-Gon’s announcement, the chamber echoing with the din of the Council so loudly, but she refused to draw attention to herself. Not that she truly thought she could: no, her great-Grandmaster certainly had a way shaking things up. She could practically feel the tension radiating from Rex and Cody where they stood behind her. She could sympathise; she never knew quite what to expect when the Council was up in arms, either. 

Next to her, Anakin pressed his lips together in an attempt to keep his features still. She knew that it was from laughter, but he was good enough at hiding it, that it really could have been any expression. It was comforting, in a way. _”I guess pissing off the Council is a lineage tradition?”_ Ahsoka asked, and Anakin glanced at her, smirking faintly.

_”Snips, I don’t think we know the half of it.”_

Ahsoka thought about that. She knew from traveling with the man that Qui-Gon Jinn was an unusual Jedi;he resembled his statue less and less, save for the way they had captured his broken nose. Ahsoka had never seen him repress an emotion, or deny an attachment. From the way he played Sabacc, and the reaction of the Council to seeing him alive, it was easy to see him as the Maverick. 

The absence of her great-Grandmaster’s presence had been a hole that she had never noticed until filled, and it was most obviously reflected in Master Obi-Wan. It was even more obvious here, in the Temple, where there was still an attempt to adhere to protocol. Master Obi-Wan, who had fallen into place so easily next to Qui-Gon — easier even than the way Anakin fell into place with Master Obi-Wan, or Ahsoka was sure she fell into step with Anakin. There was history there, a seamless connection between the two that Ahsoka envied, even though she was happy with the strength of her bond with Anakin. Too see them in action must have been brilliant. 

Master Obi-Wan stepped forward then, palms out and empty. “Masters,” he began, his voice no louder than it would be sitting down to tea. Once by one, the Council quieted, as effectively as the Initiates in the creche; even Anakin stood a little straighter. “Long, we have suspected the presence of another, a Master of Tyrannus, still in shadow. The news Qui-Gon brings is no more than confirmation of our worst fears already considered: the Sith Lord is here, on Coruscant.” 

“Impossible!” Master Coleman Kcaj demanded. “The Sith’s presence in the Force is like a rot: stinking and obvious. We would know!” 

Rex’s scof was so faint — muffled by his helmet, he must have turned his helmet com off — Ahsoka almost believed that she had imagined it. She couldn’t really turn around to check, but Anakin’s amusement increased over their bond. It said something, too, that Cody didn’t seem upset by Rex’s breech of decorum. 

“Clearly you would not,” Master Qui-Gon countered, his voice dry. “For he _is_ and you _haven’t_.” That set Master Kcaj back in his seat, his presence thunderous. 

Master Plo leaned forward, his hologram flickering. “Do you know the identity of this Sith?” he asked. 

Master Obi-Wan spread his hands again. “The Sith is well hidden,” he said, and did not elaborate. It wasn’t an answer, not truly, and Ahsoka bit her tongue to keep from showing her surprise when the Council nodded, as if it was. It didn’t make sense — they should be asking more questions. Why weren’t they discussing this more?

Master Yoda sighed his eyes closed. “A plan, you have?” It was a question, but not really. He sounded sure of what the answer would be. Defeated. 

Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes, Masters. We desire to flush out this Sith, and end this costly war.” 

“Then go,” Master Mace said, eyes on Master Yoda. “This Council has much to discuss.” 

And that was as clear a dismissal as they were going to get. The doors behind them opened, and Ahsoka turned to leave, but noticed that Anakin was still looking back. Ahsoka looked to see Master Obi-Wan standing still in the middle of the room, as if suspended between two opposing magnets. 

“Dismissed you are, Master Kenobi,” Master Yoda said, and finally, a bit of warmth crept back into his voice. “More important, your mission is.” 

Still, Master Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment before he bowed to the Council, and walked from the room, falling back in step with Master Qui-Gon. 

***

Momentum carried them as far as the lift, but once inside, nobody was quite sure which button to push. Obi-Wan saved them all the trouble, and pushed the button for the personal quarters. They would have to take at least one more lift to get there, Anakin knew, but it would give them a certain amount of privacy, away from the eyes of the Council. They had done some things that never sat easily with Anakin in the past, but the Council had never gone so far as to spy on them in their quarters. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, the idea just occurring to him, and Obi-Wan half-turned, lost in thought, to face him. 

“Hm? What — oh!” Obi-Wan said as the same realization came to him. “Well, that could be a problem, couldn’t it. I guess we’ll figure that out once we get there.” 

Qui-Gon turned to them, and Obi-Wan flushed faintly. Anakin didn’t bother to hide his smile. It was a good look for him — all too often, stress or exhaustion made him look grey and sick, which made Helix and Kix _both_ mutter dire things — and Anakin _knew_ the 212th had procedures in place for when Obi-Wan grew _too_ grey or _too_ pale. It was _good_ for him to get some color. And some rest. And some —

“Anakin was still my Padawan when war broke out,” Obi-Wan said, his voice louder than needed. Anakin hid a grin and subtly reinforced his shielding. “We were out on campaign so much that we never bothered to requisition new Knight quarters for him.” He shrugged slightly. “We’re still out so often; I’m afraid it’s the three of us to the room now.” 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused though his expression did not change much. “I see,” he said. “That will be a tight fit.” 

“Uh, General?” Cody began, quietly, and Anakin and Obi-Wan both turned to look at him. “You don’t intend for Rex and I to stay with you, too, do you?” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “Then it really would be a tight fit, wouldn’t it,” he said. “No, you may bunk with you men.” Anakin was absolutely imagining the way Rex slumped slightly at that. It was relief. Absolutely. “In fact,” Obi-Wan continued, “why don’t you head there now. You’ve earned your rest, and we’re going to be a while before we leave the Temple.” 

“We’ll give you a heads up when we make our next plans,” Anakin added. “Go make sure Jesse and Kix come up for air at some point, yeah?”

“Sir,” Rex and Cody said in unison, though Anakin could totally _feel_ the heat of Rex’s glare. It was wonderful; Anakin had missed having a Chosen-Brother. 

When the lift doors opened and they spilled out into the hallway, Rex and Cody went left towards the lifts to the shuttles that would take them to the planetside barracks, and Anakin and the rest went right towards the apartment towers. 

The halls of the tower never truly changed. Anakin knew Obi-Wan and Ahsoka found it comforting, a bit of familiar in a rapidly changing galaxy, but Anakin always found it a bit unnerving. An outworlder to Tatooine would say that the desert never changed, but anyone who lived there knew that the unchanging nature of the desert was the essence of change itself; something that was always in flux. That there were places in the Tower that hadn’t moved an inch in centuries always felt _wrong_ to Anakin. Dead. 

Qui-Gon was looking around as if it _was_ different, however, and judging by his expression, it was not a good change. 

The apartment that Obi-Wan and Anakin (and now Ahsoka) shared wasn’t just the one that Obi-Wan and Anakin had shared for years, but it was also once the apartments of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, when Obi-Wan was a Padawan. Anakin only realized no one told Qui-Gon of that when Obi-Wan stopped in front of their quarters, and Qui-Gon steps faltered. 

“Still?” Qui-Gon had asked, quietly, and Obi-Wan shrugged, placing his palm on the door control. 

“They’re perfectly good rooms,” he said, just as quietly, as the door wooshed open. “And provided both a necessary comfort and a necessary cognitive dissonance.” 

“This self-flagellation is a terrible habit, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured, crossing the threshold, and Obi-Wan stopped to look at him. Anakin took one look at his face, and ushed Ahsoka deeper into the apartment and away from them. Still, he heard Obi-Wan behind him. 

“You were dead, and I had Anakin to think of,” Obi-Wan said, quietly. “I did not have _time_ to be gentle.” 

Anakin heard the whisper of cloth, and then Qui-Gon’s words, just before the door to “his” room slid shut. He breathed out a sigh of relief, and opened his eyes to see Ahsoka watching him, eyebrow raised and hands on her hips. 

“What?” He asked, and Ahsoka shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Don’t even,” Anakin said, and then nodded towards the bed. It was made, for once, the sheets clean. Ahsoka had been the last to say in these rooms, then. He couldn't quite remember. “Why don’t you get some rest,” he said. “We can’t do anything until dawn anyway, when the rest of the planet wakes up.” 

Ahsoka nodded, accepting this, and unbuckled her belt, placing it and her lightsabers on the small side table. She removed her boots as well, wiggling her stocking toes as she scooted back onto the bed. 

“What are you going to do?” Ahsoka said, already yawning into her hand. “You’re a bit tall for the couch.” 

Anakin waved it off. “I’m too wired for sleep. I’m going to tinker for a bit.” He gestured to the side-table with his thumb, where his ongoing projects were spread out in pieces. “I’ll wake you,” he promised, and within moments, Ahsoka was sleeping. 

Determined, Anakin turned back to his table. Truth was, there wasn’t anything ongoing on his project table, but there _would_ be. Force knows Anakin wasn’t about to go back out _there_ until he could be sure Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were well gone. 

Anakin missed his wife dearly. It was still too early yet, but he would call once the sun crested the horizon. She spoke often about what they would do after the war, and Anakin had joined in when asked, but he had never truly _believed_ that there would be an _after_ the war, the same way he had wished to leave Tatooine, but had never really _believed_ he would. The possibility of it, and of it _soon_ was now staring him in the face, and Anakin wasn’t quite sure what he would do. 

Unbidden, his mind replayed the words that Qui-Gon had said so softly to Obi-Wan, and 

_“We have time now, my heart.”_

***

The barracks were as rowdy as they ever were, when brothers first went planetside on leave. As Rex was also “officially” on leave, he ignored everything around him to head straight for his bunk, stripping from his armor and peeling out of his blacks. 

On Kamino, the clones had been trained for all sorts of weather and terrain; they had not only survival training, but extensive endurance training. Rex, himself, had spent days, weeks, month in deserts, on ice worlds, deep in the jungle — and he always found himself itching for a shower from the moment he was planetside. 

He wasn’t the only one. Fives had said it was a result of growing on a stormy water planet, that they craved water. Kix said it was likely psychological; sonic showers worked more efficiently than water, but the human brain had difficulty accepting the cleanliness without running water. Cody never said anything, but whenever Rex made it to the showers, Cody was already there. 

Today was no different; Rex grabbed his towel and his shower pack and headed towards the door at the back of the room, seeing Cody headed that way as well. 

The barracks showers could accommodate twelve brothers at a time, if nobody doubled up. Sometimes it was necessary, when time was crunched, and Rex had shared water with Cody, with Fives, with Echo and Hardcase. Kix and Jesse usually shared water, shocker, but at least when they were in a hurry, they focused on getting clean and not on each other. 

The room was empty, save for Rex and Cody, and Rex was relieved. Modesty was not a trait found often among them, reserved for non-brothers who found themselves in the clones’ private spaces, but Rex felt raw, overexposed, and wanted nothing more than to be honestly _alone_ for a few minutes. Being alone with Cody was nearly as good. Rex could trust that Cody didn’t want to talk about idle things, and would let Rex calm because Rex had done the same for him. 

Cody chose the shower second from the end, leaving the farthest for Rex. Rex knocked a loose fist against Cody’s shoulder as he passed, in silent thanks. Cody didn’t respond, but Rex wasn’t expecting him to. Cody wouldn’t talk until Cody was ready. 

Rex hung up his towel and turned on his shower, standing to the side until the first blast of cold passed. When it had warmed from “Hoth” to “Cool,” Rex stepped under the spray, letting the water sluice over his chest and shoulders, rinsing away the clammy heat that had been trapped with him ever since—

Dunking his head under the water, pushing the thought away through sheer force, letting them flow down the drain. When the water was finally steaming hot, he reached for his soap. 

“So. Kenobi and Jinn.” Cody asked, voice pitched to keep it from echoing around the room, as Rex was scrubbing soap into the short stubble of his hair. 

Rex hesitated only a moment, eyes seeing Jinn and Kenobi in the conference room. “Yep,” he said, and dunked his head, rinsing the suds free. He pulled his head up with a shake, sending water off in all directions to see Cody staring at him, smirking. “What?” Cody didn’t answer, just lifted his leg to soap his foot, still looking at Rex. “Fuck you,” Rex snapped, and turned back to the water.

Cody laughed, suddenly quite close, and Rex let himself be pulled back against Cody’s chest. “Relax, _vod’ika_ ,” Cody murmured in Rex’s ear, and Rex jerked back with his elbow, clipping Cody lightly in the ribs; he wasn’t aiming to hurt, but dammit Cody, Rex was not ready to be teased about this — not when it was still all jumbled up in his head. 

But he knew Cody’s body like he knew his own, and he knew what Cody was offering: a distraction, a release, a comfort, and he _wanted_. 

Rex reached back, tightening his own hand on Cody’s hip, his fingers sinking into the supple muscle of Cody’s backside. “Make me,” he growled. 

Cody hummed, still amused, and wrapped an arm around Rex’s chest, his hand pressing flat and warm against his skin, his other hand gripping tight at Rex’s hip. Rex cock was already filling, hot and heavy, having never truly calmed. He closed his eyes, seeing the flush on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, the hint of skin below his waist, the obvious bulge in Qui-Gon’s pants — _kriff_ but he was enormous, and the thought of Obi-Wan wrapping those graceful hands around it —

— sucking it —

— fucking himself on it, stretch wide and gasping for air, his face pink and slack with want —

Cody moved the hand on his hip forward, rubbing his palm over the sensitive underside of Rex’s cock, pressing it close to his belly, and the image changed — now, _Rex_ was the one gripping tightly, _Rex_ was the one one his knees, _Rex_ was the one stretched and split wide, choking off his cries on Obi-Wan’s cock —

_”Fuck,”_ Rex gasped and came, spilling over Cody’s fingers as Cody worked him through, holding him tightly as he shook. 

Once Rex was sure his knees could hold him, he twisted, breaking Cody’s grip. Cody, the bastard, had a shit-eating grin that wouldn’t look out of place on Fives. Rex narrowed his eyes as he pushed Cody back onto the bench, determined to wipe that damnable smirk off his face. 

And he did.


End file.
